


Tight Fit

by Dandy



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Assault, Bullying, Claustrophobia, M/M, Poor Prompto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-03 20:11:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13348641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dandy/pseuds/Dandy
Summary: He doesn't understand. He wants to go home. They pick him up and he fights again, twists and turns and kicks and squirms and breaks out of one of their hands, but then the biggest one yanks him so hard by the collar that he chokes, breathing hard through his nose to compensate for his blocked mouth.“Let's put him in a locker,” says the biggest one, and Prompto nearly passes out.For the FFXV kink meme.





	1. Friday

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this lovely prompt:
> 
> https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4113.html?thread=6438417#cmt6438417
> 
> I've been in this fandom for five minutes and I'm already writing Prompto whump.

“Hey. Wanna come over and play video games tonight?”

Noctis is leaning against the desk next to his, his backpack already slung over his shoulder, when Prompto looks up from putting his own things away. The word “yes” is already forming on his lips, because he would _definitely_ like to do that, when he catches a disapproving look from their teacher. He sighs.

“Sorry, dude. Can't. Remedial class tonight.”

“Remedial class on a _Friday_?” Noctis scowls. “That's criminal.”

“Yeah. If only one of us could make a law against it some day...”

“It's first on my list.” Noctis huffs. His face is dangerously close to a pout, the way it always is when things don't go his way, and Prompto has to bite back a laugh. “Seriously, though. What's the class for?”

“Math.” He fiddles with his pencil, shaking it up and down. “Didn't do so hot on the trig test.”

“Eh. Trig. What is it good for?”

“You'd know that better than me since you aced that test.”

“Yeah, and I'm sure I'm going to use those skills every day.” He rolls his eyes, still pouting, and now Prompto does laugh. “Okay. What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Oh man... my schedule's pretty full... I was thinking about going to the country club, and then taking a spin around the bay in my yacht...”

Noctis's lips quirk up in a grin, and Prompto feels as happy that he could make Noctis smile as he ever does. It never gets old. “Come to my place. I'll help you with your trig homework. Ignis will make snacks.”

Prompto grins back at him. “You know I can't turn down Iggy's cooking. One sound good?”

“Noon. You can eat lunch with us.”

Prompto feels his expression waver just a little. “You don't gotta feed me lunch too, man...”

“Listen. Ignis has been up my butt lately about... crop reports, or something. If you're around, maybe he'll shut up. You'd be doing me a favor.”

Prompto laughs. “Yeah, like me being around has ever distracted Iggy.” But he nods. “Alright. Noon tomorrow.”

The teacher clears her throat, looking pointedly at Noctis. He gives her a shrug, before looking back at Prompto and holding up his fist. Prompto bumps it with his own, and watches as Noctis tosses his bag further up his shoulder and turns to leave.

“See ya,” he says, and Prompto grins after him.

The teacher clears her throat a third time, and he finally pulls out his notebook and starts to copy down the problem she's written on the board.

His free hand stays under his desk – he can, after all, text just fine with it.

* * *

 

 _already bored_ says the text from Prompto, and Noctis grins at it as he crosses the lawn in front of the school. It never took Prompto long to start texting in class – it was why their teachers' efforts to make them stop talking to each other by moving them apart were futile.

_ill help you pass ur next one, then u won't be stuck in there_

_my hero noct_

“Is Prompto not joining us today?” asks Ignis, distracting Noctis from his reply. He's standing by the driver's side door, looking over the car at him and his lack of blond haired tagalong.

“Remedial classes,” Noctis says by way of explanation, opening the back door to chunk his backpack unceremoniously inside before collapsing in the front seat. He immediately reaches over and switches the radio from the classical music Ignis had been enjoying to something with more bass and screaming. Ignis doesn't say anything about it. “He's coming over tomorrow to study.”

“You'll be wanting snacks, I suppose,” says Ignis as he pulls the car away from the school, sounding only vaguely put upon by the unspoken request.

“And lunch.”

“Mm...” Ignis hums, but Noctis knows he'll give in. He never turns down a request to cook for Noctis, especially since Prompto started hanging out with him the year before. He guesses it's hard to, when his friend looks like an eager and underfed puppy. “Alright.”

“Sweet,” he says, quickly typing, _iggy's in for cooking,_ in a text to Prompto. Prompto sends back an emoji pumping its fist, followed by, _tell Iggy thanks for me!_

“Prompto says thanks.”

“At least someone around here does,” says Ignis, but he's smiling just a little. “Now stop texting him while he's in class.”

Noctis does not stop texting him while he's in class. For most of the ride home they text back and forth, until he gets a half formed reply that just says _sh_

Followed by, _BUSTED_.

He can't help but laugh as he gets out of the car, following Ignis into his apartment. Ignis looks at him questioningly, and he holds up the message for him to see.

“The teacher probably took his phone,” he says, still grinning, and Ignis sighs.

“I told you to stop texting him.”

“Relax, Specs. He'll get it back after class. It's not like they can keep it from him all weekend.”

“You might be right, but I still hope you've learned your lesson.”

“Whatever.” Noctis flops on the couch, ignoring Ignis now as he wanders off into the kitchen. He texts back, _get better stealth skills, man. Like me._

Then he picks up his TV remote and waits for Prompto to get his phone back.

* * *

 

His phone is handed back to him at the end of class. Prompto gives the teacher a grin and a little salute (she returns neither), then heads back to grab his things.

He makes a stop at his locker to put away books he won't need over the weekend and to grab his camera. Or at least, that's the idea, but when he opens his locker his stomach drops instantly.

His camera isn't there.

His hands start sweating immediately as dread washes over him. What if someone stole it? What if he dropped it somewhere and it's lying on the ground, broken? He worked a part-time job all summer to get that camera, and he's been so, so careful with it, but now it's gone.

 _Calm down, Prompto,_ he says to himself, closing his locker door as calmly as he can. _Don't panic. Retrace your steps. When did you have it last?_

That's easy to remember. He took it with him to lunch. It was a nice day outside, and he wanted to take some good outdoor shots in the natural light. Ostensibly he was going to take pictures of the trees and the flowers around the athletics building, but he'd mostly taken pictures of Noctis. Not that anyone had to know.

So where had he gone after that? They'd gone straight into the gym after that for PE and...

He smacks his fist in his palm, feeling relief sweep over him. He must have left it in his gym locker. It has a lock on it, so no one could have stolen it. Still feeling a little anxious but not like he's about to panic, Prompto hurries out of the building toward the gym.

Thankfully it's unlocked. He jogs across the gym floor to the locker room, making a beeline for the locker he uses. It's one of the small lockers used by students not on a sports team for their gym clothes – the tall, full body lockers are for the basketball and volleyball players.

His hands are shaking as he fiddles with his lock, and he gets the combination wrong the first time. Telling himself to calm down, he tries again – there's a satisfying click, and then, as Prompto pulls the door open, he heaves a sigh of relief. His camera is sitting right there, draped by his gym clothes.

“Hey there,” he says out loud, a nervous, relieved laugh bubbling through his lips. “Thought I'd lost you for sure.” He slips the camera strap over his head, making sure it's secure there.

He's just put the lock back on his locker and turned to leave, whistling to himself, when he hears footsteps coming toward the locker room. At first, he doesn't think all that much about it (it's probably just someone who forgot something, like he did), but as he nears the door three boys enter, and Prompto abruptly stops whistling, stomach dropping to the floor.

They're all big, part of the school's football and wrestling teams. They're all mean, too, though in Prompto's opinion there's really no need for them to be. And for some reason, they've set their sights on bullying Prompto for several weeks now, ever since the new school year started.

He's not sure why they've singled him out like this. Maybe because he's friends with Noctis. Maybe because he just oozes “easy target.” Usually, he's good at avoiding them, and the most they've been able to do so far is lob some uncreative taunts at him and one time, kick his legs out from under him in the hallway. He shouldn't be afraid of them, he tells himself.

But he's at least a little afraid.

“Well, well, well, boys,” says the biggest one, grinning. “Look what we have here.”

“If it isn't Freckles, all alone,” says the one to his left.

“All alone without his prince to protect him,” says the one to the right. They're nearly indistinguishable from each other. Prompto wonders if they coordinated their haircuts.

“Hey, guys,” he says, trying to keep his tone as unprovocative as possible. “Ready for the weekend?” He starts to edge himself towards the door, but they're effectively blocking it.

“Yeah,” says the biggest one, and the other two snicker in time. “We were thinking we could kick off this weekend with some fun.”

“Oh, well, don't let me stop you,” Prompto says, taking another small step towards the door. The boys simultaneously back up, now in the doorway.

“Wait.” The biggest one again. “Don't you want to stay and hang out with us?”

“Wish I could, but I gotta... uh... go do my homework.”

“Plenty of time to do that later,” says the one on the left.

“Procrastinate 'til Sunday,” says the one on the right. It's weirding Prompto out.

“I want to get a head start,” he says, giving them a nervous smile. “So if you'll just let me-”

“Hey, let me see the camera,” says the biggest one, and Prompto's veins run cold.

“Wh-what for?” he stammers, holding it closer to his chest. There's no way he's letting these guys take his camera from him. He worked too hard for it.

The biggest one holds out his hand. “Just wanna see your pictures, Freckles,” he says, grinning in a way that is anything but friendly.

“These are still raw shots,” he says, taking a step back, clutching the camera so hard his knuckles turn white. “I haven't done any cropping or touched them up, and I, you know, like to have them all done before I show them off-”

“Got pictures you don't want us to see?” the biggest one asks, leaving the other two behind to step closer. “Been taking pictures of your boyfriend?”

Prompto's face flushes involuntarily, and he curses himself and all six of the gods in his head. “Boyfriend? Wh-what are you talking about?”

The biggest one rolls his eyes and takes another step forward. “Everyone knows you're screwing the prince...” A pause while his eyes rove up and down Prompto's face, and then he grins wide, menacing. “Or at least you want to be.”

Prompto swallows hard, and steels himself. He's back up towards the end of a row of lockers. There are three rows of lockers, and the door is at the other side of them. If he can just get the guys away from the door...

“Nah, no pictures of Noct,” he says, and his voice comes out more confident than he feels. “A whole lot of pictures of your mom, though.”

It's hardly his best line, but it works. The biggest one scowls, and lunges, and the other two advance, and Prompto _runs_.

He's small, but he's fast, and hopefully more agile than these guys. He rounds the corner of the lockers and shoots straight for the now open doorway, hearing the squeak of shoes on the ground as the three boys fight to swivel their weight around and run the other way. He puts all the speed he can into his legs, thinks of his morning jogs and all the work he's put in. He's fast. He can escape-

Something hits him in the back of the head just as he enters the gym, and he falls with a shout, doing everything he can to protect his camera as he smacks onto the floor. He lands on his wrist weird, and hopes he didn't break it or something. His book bag goes flying, skidding across the gym floor. His books fall everywhere.

Scrambling, he tries to pull himself up, but he can already hear footsteps gaining on him. In the corner of his eye he sees what hit him (a dodgeball – he almost wants to laugh) and realizes there was a fourth one, waiting right outside the door. So they aren't as dumb as he was hoping.

Before he can get to his feet, there are suddenly rough hands grabbing him under the shoulders and roughly dragging him up. He's lifted completely off the ground, feet dangling, and walked back into the locker room.

“Hey, guys, can't we talk about this?” he says, getting more nervous by the second. “What do you gain out of this? Do you want money? I can get you money!”

He doesn't have any money, but he hopes they take the bait anyway. Maybe he can get a loan from Noctis later.

But they don't put him down. Instead, the one from outside the door comes in, twirling something around his finger.

Duct tape. Prompto suddenly feels faint.

“H-hey, buddy,” he says, laughing nervously as he watches the guy with the tape approach him. “Whatcha gonna do with that?”

“We're going to help you have a nice weekend,” says the biggest one with a grin, taking the tape from the other boy, then motioning for the other two to turn him around. He's set down, and he tries to break free, but their grips are too strong on his arms. His hands are roughly thrust behind his back, and he hears a long length of the tape being ripped off.

He realizes what's about to happen, and starts fighting, twisting and straining against the boys restraining him. But they hang on, too tight; he's going to have bruises there later, he's sure. Still, he fights and kicks and squirms and starts yelling, “Help me! Somebody help!”

There's a thud against his head, and suddenly he's stunned, no more cries coming out of his mouth. His vision clouds over for a second, and it takes him that time to realize what happened. The other boy must have hit him with the dodgeball again, but closer this time. Harder. Hard enough that he's seeing spots.

He's so still that the biggest one easily tapes his hands together behind his back. His bony wrists rub together. It's a painful, awkward position on his arms. They rip off another strip, and do it again. And again. And again. And again. He can feel multiple layers weighing on his skin.

They spin him around, and before he can do or say anything, the biggest one puts a long strip of tape over his mouth.

Prompto panics.

His heart starts beating faster, his breath coming out in short, pained bursts. His eyes are wide, looking between the four of them, wondering what they're going to do to him now. He tries to scream, but the tape keeps him from opening his lips, and the sound comes out muffled and choked at the back of his throat.

“That's better,” says the biggest one. “Now we don't have to hear your dumb voice.”

Then he reaches over, grabs the camera hanging from its strap around Prompto's head, and pulls it up and off him. Prompto tries to scream, but nothing happens again. He feels tears welling in his eyes.

 _Give it back,_ he wants to beg. _Please give it back._

The two on either side of him suddenly force him to the ground, hard. His head knocks into the lockers on the way down, and he swears he's going to have brain damage after this. Once he's able to focus again, he realizes the one who threw the dodgeball at him has the camera now, looking through the viewfinder and fiddling with the lens focus.

“Damn,” he says. “This thing is fancy.”

“How the hell'd you get something like this?” asks the biggest one, giving Prompto a nudge with his foot. “Did the prince give it to you? Is he like, your sugar daddy or something?”

“Gross,” says the one on the biggest one's right. He laughs.

Prompto wants to say that he bought it himself, that he worked and saved and earned it all himself, but he can't say anything. All he can do is throw muffled sobs into the tape and hope something reaches ears outside the locker room.

“This thing has so many buttons,” the one holding his camera is saying. He flips it around in his hands, examining it, and Prompto wants to tell him to be careful. “I don't even know what half of these do.”

 _I could teach you if you'd let me go,_ he tries to say, but all that comes out is garbled noise.

“Who cares?” says the biggest one dismissively. “Just point it at him and push the big button.”

The other one sighs, though he does raise the viewfinder to his eye again. “You have no appreciation for art,” he says, and then he snaps a photo.

One, two, three, four. All of them of Prompto lying on the ground, tears rolling down his face, trying as hard as he can to sink into the wall so no one can have pictures of him like this. He wants this to stop. He wants to go home.

 _Now they have what they want,_ he tells himself. _They wanted humiliating pictures, now they have them. Now they'll let me go._

“So what do we do with him now?” asks one of the boys Prompto can't tell apart.

“Hm. We can't just leave him laying here,” says the one holding his camera, and Prompto's heart leaps. Yes, that's right. He can't stay here in the floor, so they have to let him go now. He can go home, and crawl into bed, and forget this ever happened.

But then the biggest one says, “We should put him somewhere where no one will find him,” and his heart sinks again.

He can't believe it's escalating like this. Are they going to kill him? What did he do to deserve that? Is it because he's friends with Noctis? Is it because they think they're dating? How can they go so far over something so petty?

He doesn't understand. He wants to go home. They pick him up and he fights again, twists and turns and kicks and squirms and breaks out of one of their hands, but then the biggest one yanks him so hard by the collar that he chokes, breathing hard through his nose to compensate for his blocked mouth.

“Let's put him in a locker,” says the biggest one, and Prompto nearly passes out.

They drag him over to one of the full body lockers, his feet off the ground like before. It's empty currently, but there's a lock hanging off it, indicating it must belong to someone. He struggles the whole time while they fight to get him into the locker, but he can't stop the inevitable – they stuff him in, and shut the door.

Then there's a click, and he realizes they've locked it.

Prompto thrashes with everything he has, slamming his body off the sides, back, and door of the locker. It makes a cacophony of noise, but if the boys are intimidated, they aren't showing it. He can hear them outside over his own racket, laughing as he tries to somehow escape his tiny prison. He can see them through the tiny slats in the door, pointing and giving each other high fives.

“Sorry,” calls the biggest one, still snickering. “This isn't my locker – no clue what the combination is!”

Prompto's head swims. He has to be lying. _Has to_. There's no way they would really lock him in here with no way to get him out. That would imply that they really do mean to trap him here. That they're going to _leave_ him here.

He thrashes more, but the boys are quickly growing bored by this game. After a few more minutes taunting Prompto through the door, one of them says, “Let's get out of here,” and they turn to go.

They're really going.

No, no, no, they _can't_ really be going! They can't really leave him here! One of them must be about to turn around, laugh at the sound of his tears, and let him out. Right? _Right?_

They don't. He listens to their footsteps as they leave the locker room.

He leans his forehead against the door of the locker and sobs.

* * *

 

“So wait, are we actually going to leave him there?” asks one of the boys nervously as they leave the gym. He's fidgeting, looking back over his shoulder. What if something happens to him, and the school finds out they locked him in there?

“Are you wimping out on me _now_?” the ringleader asks, glaring at him. “Do you want to go join Freckles?”

“N-no, I'm good.”

“Good.” The ringleader's smile returns. “Don't freak. The janitor will be there soon. He'll let Freckles out.”

“What if he tells him we put him in there?”

“Don't worry about it. My dad's on the school board, remember?”

“What do I do with the camera?” asks one of the others, still holding it in his hands. The biggest one shrugs.

“Toss it, I guess.”

“Alright,” he answers, and tosses it over his shoulder. There's the sound of glass breaking as the lens meets the concrete path.

They don't stop. They leave the school.

* * *

 

“You'll get more work done quickly if you stop staring at your phone.”

Noctis rolls his eyes and tries to set the phone down and concentrate on the documents Ignis has put in front of him. Some sort of explanation on proper etiquette when dealing with diplomats from Accordo. He keeps his eyes on it for less than thirty seconds before he's looking at his phone again.

“Noct...”

“It's just weird, okay?” he says, like he's already said once this evening. His last text to Prompto had been at three forty five. It was after seven now. He should have gotten his phone back after his class, which was usually over at five or five thirty. Why hasn't he answered, then?

“Have you considered that Prompto simply doesn't want to talk to you right now?” Ignis asks, and Noctis makes a face at his phone.

“Prompto always wants to talk,” he says, and then flinches when he realizes he sounds like a petulant kid. When he glances up, Ignis isn't laughing, but Noctis knows from the look on his face that he might as well be.

“He might be otherwise indisposed. Maybe _he's_ actually doing his work, unlike you.”

“Doubt it,” says Noctis, and he picks up his phone again. Types, _dude, did you get your phone back?_ and hits send.

No reply comes immediately. After a few more minutes, he sighs and bends back over his documents. Might as well get as much done as he can.

“Relax,” says Ignis. “You'll see him tomorrow. You can talk plenty then.”

* * *

 

There's a buzz in his pocket that finally shakes Prompto out of his stupor. He doesn't know how long he's been leaning against the door, sobbing and occasionally screaming, hoping to be heard. He lifts his head off the door and realizes with a hopeful beat of his heart that he has his phone in his front pants pocket.

Now, if he can just get to it...

His hands are behind his back, and the tape is tight around him. It's a strong kind too, and after several minutes of wrenching his hands against it he starts to doubt he's going to be able to rip it off.

Maybe he can just... stretch the tape, and pull one of his hands out that way. He starts working on it, moving his hands back and forth. But there isn't much give, because of all the layers. Still, he doesn't give up immediately. He tells himself that he just has to keep at it, and eventually he'll get his hands free.

He can't be sure how long he does that, working his hands back and forth and breathing heavily through his nose. There's two more buzzes in his pocket while he works, most likely Noctis, wanting to know why he isn't answering his texts.

 _Don't worry, buddy,_ he thinks, and isn't sure whether it's to himself or Noctis. _I'll text back soon._

But the tape isn't giving. There's so much of it, and it's thick, and the way it's bound around his wrists makes it hard for his hands to do much stretching. Finally, his wrists start to get unbearably sore, and he knows he has to stop, at least rest for awhile.

So he starts trying to twist his hands around to grab his phone.

That quickly proves even more impossible. Maybe, if he was in a large enough space to twist his body, he could make it, but in the tiny locker he can barely move his shoulders. They scrape against the sides, and he has to stand at a bit of a diagonal to keep himself from being uncomfortably wedged. Not that there isn't anything about the situation that's comfortable to begin with.

After minutes of this, he gives a frustrated sob and slams his whole body against the door again. That isn't going to work. He has to get his hands loose from the tape, but he's not sure if he's going to be able to do that either.

He leans against the door and closes his eyes, and tries to breathe. He can smell a lemony scent from somewhere. It's not bad, though it does have a chemical tinge. He breathes it in and lets it soothe him.

_Okay, Prompto. Calm down and think about this logically._

Logically, he's going to die. No, that thought is unhelpful. Think more _helpful_ logical thoughts.

_The janitor._

Prompto's eyes snap open, and relief floods his chest. Of course! The janitor! When the janitor comes, Prompto can cry out, throw himself against the locker door like he's been doing. The janitor will be able to figure out how to get him out of here. He'll be saved!

With that comforting thought in mind, he decides to see if he can get more comfortable in the locker for the time being.

As established, there's very little room for him to move his shoulders. Also, while Prompto is hardly the tallest kid in his class, the locker still isn't designed to actually fit a _human_ his height, so he has to bend slightly at the knees. They're already starting to ache, and he wonders if he can sit down.

He starts trying to wiggle himself into a sitting position, but the lower he goes, the more he starts to get stuck. Even if he makes it all the way down, he's suddenly unsure if he'll be able to get back up again.

The idea of sitting, wedged in place, with no way to move at _all_ is more frightening than anything. Prompto wiggles back up until he's standing, feeling his heart rate slow.

He decides he can stand, until the janitor comes.

* * *

 

He's not sure how long he stays like that, leaning against the side of the locker, hands occasionally working at the tape again, but suddenly there's a click, and the lights coming through the slats on the door go off.

Prompto's stomach twists in fearful hope, and he starts yelling as best he can through the tape, slamming his body against the door. He does that until his shoulders and hips start to ache, until his throat is sore, but no one comes. No one comes.

Prompto doesn't understand. If the lights went off, that means someone had to turn them off, right? That means someone came to the locker room, or at least right outside it. Surely they didn't walk away that quickly, right? Surely they were able to hear him. He was making as much noise as he possibly could. If someone was there, they couldn't have missed it.

 _If_ someone was there...

Suddenly, a terrible thought occurs to Prompto. What if no one turned the light off? What if the light itself is on a timer?

It makes perfect sense. The lights are on a timer, in case a kid or someone else leaves one on. Most of the lights are also motion activated, but he's not outside, moving around the locker room, so there's no reason for it to come on. No one is moving around out there.

But if the lights are going off, it must be pretty late. So where is the janitor, he wonders. Surely he must be coming by by now. Surely he can't be skipping the locker rooms.

Prompto breathes the lemony scent again, and suddenly gasps.

He knows what it is now. It's lemon-scented toilet bowl cleaner.

Which means the janitor has already been here tonight. He probably came in and cleaned it while Prompto was in his remedial class. Before he ever even came here, looking for his camera.

But if the janitor isn't coming tonight, then _no one_ is. No one will be here all weekend. No one will be here until... until...

Monday morning.

Prompto's head suddenly feels heavy. Everything is spinning. There's a ringing in his ears. He can't think.

He passes out.

* * *

 

Noctis looks at his messages one more time, hoping he just missed something. He turns the phone off and turns it back on again, wondering if it's glitching on him, but nothing changes.

There's the text from Prompto that says _BUSTED_ , and then his own texts, and then nothing.

It's weird. It's only been a little over a year since Prompto bounded up to him, all big smiles and friendly hands, pretending they'd never met before, but in that time they'd grown close. There were few things he didn't tell Prompto, and he was pretty sure Prompto told him almost everything too. Prompto was always willing to talk to him, even when he was down and mopey. He'd never gone this long without answering a text, not without at least a quick, _can't talk, tell u l8r_.

And he'd seemed fine when Noctis left school. Other than the extra classwork, he'd seemed happy. Noctis replays the interaction in his head, trying to pinpoint anything he'd said that might have offended Prompto, but he can't think of anything.

Finally, with a sigh, he sets his alarm and lies down in bed. Tomorrow, Prompto is supposed to come over. Hopefully, he'll explain it then.

Noctis closes his eyes, and tries to sleep.


	2. Saturday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: ptsd flashbacks?

Prompto is floating in some kind of goo.

He thinks the goo might be green, but he's not entirely sure. When he thinks about it too hard, the goo tends to change colors. Through the goo, he sees glass, and beyond the glass, people moving around. Some of the people are wearing white lab coats, others look like they're wearing some kind of military uniform. Prompto watches them, wondering what they're doing.

He floats.

He has various wires attached to him. He wonders what they're for. One looks like an IV – feeding him, or giving him some kind of medicine. There's another with something black running through it. This time, he knows for sure it's black. It looks like some kind of sludge. He doesn't know what it is, though.

He keeps floating. The people outside his little goo tube walk around. It's almost peaceful.

Then one of the people walks up to the glass. They're wearing a lab coat, but Prompto can't make out much more than that. They tap on his tube. Then they turn and say something over their shoulder. Prompto can't hear it – the goo presses on his ears and all he can hear is white noise.

Then the person turns back, and presses a button.

Prompto's vision goes white, and his back arches with the suggestion of pain. He tries to scream, but there's something blocking his mouth, and he knows if he tries to take it off, he will only hurt worse as he sucks the goo into his lungs. Something is wrong. Something is so wrong. Why are they doing this to him? He wants to leave.

The person in the white lab coat goes to press another button, and Prompto yanks himself as far away from them as he can on pure, protective reflex.

His head slams into the back of the locker, and he wakes up with a panicked start.

It takes him a minute to remember what happened and where he is. Right. Still stuck in here. The walls feel even more closed in than they did before, and he tries to suck in even breaths as he leans against the door. He closes his eyes and tries to pretend he can't feel the cold metal pressing against his uniform.

He hasn't had a dream like that since he was a little kid, and it would always leave him feeling as disoriented as he does now. Already, most of the details of it have slipped from his mind, even as he tries to hold onto them; all he can really remember is the sensation of floating, and the fear that grabbed him.

If he were still a child, at home, he would have run to his parents' bedroom and crawled under the covers with them. Would have cried and had them rub his back and shush him. For all that his parents might not be the most... present, they would give him that small comfort, and let him sleep in a bed with the safety of people around him.

But he's not a kid, and he's not at home, and his parents aren't even in the country.

His world has been reduced to himself, and this tiny little locker.

He wonders what time it is. It's impossible to tell how long he was unconscious – the lights are still off, there's no windows in the locker room for him to see whether it's morning outside. He wishes he could get to his phone, and starts wiggling his wrists to try and get his hands free once more. He also tests the duct tape on his mouth with his tongue, working his lips, trying to loosen it.

Normally tape on skin like this would fall off on its own, eventually. But this kind seems particularly stubborn. It hurts when he tries to force it off his mouth, and he doesn't bother swallowing back a moan of frustration and pain.

After awhile, he leans against one of the walls and tries to take as much weight off his feet as he can. It doesn't help – he's already been standing almost as long as his legs can bear it. It's not like he has any choice, though, so he stays standing.

Sleep was easier. Sleep distracted him from everything hurting.

He closes his eyes and tries to go to sleep again.

* * *

He wakes up to his phone alarm going off.

Right, it's Saturday, and his phone is rousing him for his morning jog. If he keeps his eyes closed, he can almost pretend he's lying in bed, covering his ears with his pillow so he can get a few more minutes of sleep. Then he'll finally get sick of it, get up, and go on his jog. Later, he'll go over to Noctis's apartment, and they'll do their homework and play video games and just hang out for the whole day, like he wanted to from the start.

But finally he opens his eyes, and all he sees are the sides of the locker.

If his phone is going off, that means it's six in the morning. Twelve hours that he's been stuck in here. He's already sore all over, and his knees and feet are screaming at him for a more comfortable position, and he's barely partway through his wait until Monday.

The first sports teams coming in for morning practice are usually here between six thirty and seven. That means he has a little over forty eight hours more to go.

Prompto is sure he'll go insane before then.

_Hey, stay positive_ , he tries to tell himself. _People have been through worse than this. Just... think happier thoughts._

He tries. He hums to himself, _I want to ride my chocobo all day..._ When he's bored with that, he hums the King's Knight theme. Then he thinks about Assassin's Creed for awhile.

His alarm has given up on him by then, leaving him in oppressive silence, and he starts to realize he can't ignore the needs of his body forever.

He's starving, for starters, and his stomach growls to remind him. The gnawing feeling in his gut is nothing compared to his parched throat. When was the last time he ate or drank anything? Lunch yesterday. It already feels like a lifetime ago.

He'd had a turkey sandwich, and the grilled vegetables Ignis had rather optimistically included with Noctis's lunch. The only thing he'd had to drink was a bottled water.

He tries to remember how long a person can last without any liquids. He's sure he's been told before, sure that it's one of the things Gladio has beaten into Noctis's head, and by extension his. He can't think of the exact number of days, but he's pretty sure it isn't very long.

That bottle of water is just going to have to last him. Though he's not sure it will, since most of it is already sitting in his bladder.

_That_ , at least, has an immediate and easily attainable solution, but he's loathe to do it. It's gross, and embarrassing.

The rational part of his brain tells him no one would blame him, in his situation. Unfortunately, the rational part of his brain is rarely, if ever, in control. The rest of him is already humiliated enough without adding anything else on top of it. He half expects someone to open the door, see he wet himself, and then slam it shut again, and then he'll really be trapped here forever.

He manages to hold out awhile longer, but he can only fight his own body so long.

He cries the whole time.

* * *

Noctis wakes up from fitful sleep a little after nine to his phone signaling a text message.

He nearly throws himself off the bed in his haste to pick it up, hope pounding in his heart that it's Prompto, apologizing for not answering him the night before, saying he's still coming, sending pictures of interesting things he saw on his jog.

Instead, it's a text from Ignis that says, _I was thinking of making pizza for lunch._

His heart sinks again. He doesn't see any other unread messages; he double checks his messages from Prompto specifically, but there's only the word _BUSTED_ , followed by his own texts. Nothing new.

Sighing, he opens Ignis's message and replies, _sure. no veggies on mine._

He can imagine Ignis giving an exasperated eyeroll at that, but all he gets back is, _Very well. Ask Prompto what he'd like on his for me._

Noctis huffs through his nose. _sure, but i doubt he'll answer me._

_He still hasn't replied to you? That's very unusual._

_understatement_

_Don't panic just yet. I'm sure there is a reasonable explanation for this._

Noctis frowns at the screen, sends back, _i'm not panicking_ , then gets up and marches a little too briskly into his bathroom to get ready.

He opens up his messages to Prompto again, clicks in the text box to type a new one.

_hey are u ok?_ he types first. He deletes that, tries again: _r u pissed off at me?_

He takes a deep breath, deletes that too, then types, _specs is making pizza, what u want on urs?_ then presses send. Then he looks at himself in the mirror.

Maybe he's panicking.

He decides to do what Ignis is always telling him to do, and lays out the probable causes for why Prompto isn't responding. He can think of four major possibilities.

One, Prompto is busy. He feels like this one is the most easily dismissed – Prompto's social calendar isn't exactly hopping. Not that Noctis is judging him (his is hardly better), but it just seems unlikely that he had something else going on, and if he did, surely he would have told Noctis that he had to cancel their plans.

Two, something is wrong with Prompto's phone. This is a probable one, he realizes. Prompto's phone is an older model, and it's given him trouble before. Maybe it died, or it's not letting him know when he has texts. If that's the case, then he should turn up at Noctis's apartment at noon, safe and sound and bitching about his broken phone. He hopes this is all that's wrong.

Three, something is wrong with _Prompto_. It's easy to let his imagination run wild when he thinks of that. Maybe Prompto fell ill, and he's in the hospital. Or maybe he got mugged on his way home. Or maybe he was in some kind of car accident.

He doesn't like that option.

And four... maybe he just doesn't want to talk to Noctis anymore.

He likes that option even less, in some ways. He can see how it might happen, Prompto getting fed up with how Noctis is always busy with prince stuff, how he sometimes gets into moods where he doesn't want to do anything. Prompto has never acted like it bothered him before, but how long could that last?

He doesn't know what he would do if Prompto didn't want to be his friend anymore, though. So he tries to forget that option.

He takes a shower, and though he would have heard if the phone went off, he checks it anyway when he gets out.

Nothing. And it's almost ten o'clock.

* * *

Prompto isn't sure how long he stands wallowing in shame and self-pity before his phone buzzes again. It must be Noctis, he thinks. It's probably getting close to noon, and he still hasn't answered any of his texts back.

He wonders what Noctis will think when he doesn't show up. Will he be mad at Prompto for not telling him he wasn't coming and wasting his time? Will he think Prompto ditched him, and be sad? Will he be relieved, that he can go do something with his Saturday other than teach Prompto trigonometry?

Prompto hopes he's worried. Then maybe he'll go looking. Maybe he'll even come to the locker room, somehow. But that seems too farfetched to believe. He'll only hurt worse, if he hangs onto that idea.

Still, he can't help but imagine it as he stares balefully out the slats in the door. Noctis there, forcing open the door somehow, saying, “Hey, man. You left me hangin'.” Ignis behind him, making some sort of pun. “You seem to be in a tight spot.” He chuckles to the Ignis that isn't there.

He even imagines Gladio being there. “Only four?” he would say. “You should have been able to fight them off, kid.”

Then they could leave. They could go back to Noctis's apartment, and play video games and eat snacks and he could forget everything that happened.

It's not going to happen. But it's a nice daydream.

* * *

Ignis lets himself into Noctis's apartment around eleven thirty to find Noctis sitting on his couch, frowning at his phone. He's carrying grocery bags on either arm, which he deposits on the kitchen counter.

“I assume Prompto still hasn't answered you back,” he observes as he starts to put things away. Noctis glances up only momentarily, making no move to help Ignis with the groceries.

“No.”

“Well, no matter. I brought a variety of toppings.”

Noctis taps the empty black phone screen with a thumb, looking pensive. He acts as if he didn't hear that last part. “It's weird, right? Totally unlike him.”

“It _is_ rather strange,” Ignis admits, frowning at a bag of pepperoni. “I've never known Prompto to give you the cold shoulder. But there's still time. It could just be something wrong with his phone.”

“Or something wrong with _him_ ,” Noctis retorts bitterly.

“Let's not get carried away. There are plenty of perfectly reasonable explanations to exhaust first.”

Noctis wants to snap at him, tell him he's already considered all the options, but he swallows the words. “So what do we do?”

“Wait until noon.”

He groans, but goes back to looking at his phone, playing restless games of King's Knight and hoping Prompto will walk through the door and announce that his phone is dead.

He doesn't come, though. Not at noon. Not at half past, when Noctis finally stands up and says to Ignis, “I'm going over there.”

“Over where?”

“To his house. I'm going to see if he's there.”

“Do you really think that's necessary?” Ignis asks, though he doesn't sound exactly opposed to the idea.

“I want to see if he's there. What if he never made it?” Noctis points out. “What if something happened on his way home?”

“Surely if he were gone all night, his parents would have reported him missing,” Ignis points out, and that pulls Noctis up short.

“...Can you check?”

Ignis already has his phone out. “Give me a moment.”

A few minutes later, Ignis is thanking whoever is on the phone and then ending the call. He shakes his head. “Nothing's been reported.”

“So you think that means he made it home?”

“It seems the most likely explanation.”

Something doesn't sit well with Noctis about it, and he can't shake the feeling that he really does need to go check. So he starts toward the door.

“Then I'll just go over there and ask him what's up.”

“Hold on, now. You can't just go traipsing around the city alone, in case you've forgotten.”

Noctis groans, and spins on his heel, ready to tell Ignis off, but he's already got his phone raised to his ear.

“Hello, Gladio? I need you to come to Noct's apartment. ...No, he's fine, it's just that Prompto was supposed to come over to study, and he hasn't made it yet.” There's a pause, during which Noctis is sure Gladio is saying something rude, because Ignis's mouth is pressed in a thin line. “You know I wouldn't contact you if I didn't think it was serious.”

“Tell him to get his ass over here,” snaps Noctis, and Ignis sighs.

“How long?” Another pause, and Ignis nods. “Okay. See you.”

He hangs up the phone and turns back to Noctis. “He says he'll be here shortly.”

“ _How_ shortly?”

“Twenty minutes.”

Noctis groans and flops back on the couch. He checks his phone again.

Nothing.

* * *

“So we're going to track blondie down because he was late for a playdate,” Gladio says when Ignis answers the door.

“It's not just that,” Ignis explains over Noctis snapping, “Shut up!” “He hasn't answered his phone since yesterday afternoon.”

That actually makes Gladio frown, though he doesn't look worried. “Huh. Okay. That's weird.”

“ _See_?”

“Still don't see why you had to interrupt my workout just for that,” Gladio grouses, but he turns and waves the other two to follow. “Let's get movin' then.”

They ride the elevator down to the underground garage and hop in the unmarked car Ignis uses to take Noctis to school. It's not as fancy as the Regalia or his father's other cars, making it better for going around the city incognito.

“Do we know where we're going?” Ignis asks from the driver's seat. Noctis almost snaps something rude and impatient, but then he pauses and realizes something important.

“Uh... I've never actually been there.”

“So we _don't_ know where we're going,” huffs Gladio, and Noctis scowls, pulling out his phone.

“Hold on... let me look.”

It takes a few minutes; Prompto doesn't have his address publicly displayed on his social media accounts, and Noctis is at a loss until Ignis suggests he look to see if the Argentums are in Insomnia's online phone book. Feeling his cheeks heat up a little for not thinking of that, he types the site into the search bar.

There are a few different Argentums in the city, but Noctis finds the one he's pretty sure is right, based on the names Prompto gave Ignis once, back when they first started hanging out. He'd been so nervous to meet Noctis's advisor, and Ignis hadn't exactly gone easy on him, quizzing him about his background and family. Noctis knew it had only been because Ignis was worried about Prompto's intentions, and he'd found it funny at first, until he became convinced that Prompto would be scared away from being his friend after all.

But he hadn't been. He'd been waiting outside school the next day, grinning and waving, just like always.

Finally, they have the address in the car's GPS. It shows a twenty minute drive through Insomnia's Saturday traffic to get there.

Noctis tunes out Ignis and Gladio's conversation, and stares at his phone.

* * *

Prompto knows he shouldn't torture himself, but he can't stop wondering what Ignis was going to make for lunch if he had gone to Noctis's house instead of being stuck in a locker.

Soup, maybe, because it's starting to get nippy outside. Or maybe a curry, hopefully green. Or maybe some kind of barbecued meat, with grilled vegetables to go with it. Or maybe something slathered in alfredo sauce and full of other cheeses, the stuff he knows he shouldn't eat because of the calories but it's just _so good_...

Hell, Ignis could make him a bologna sandwich and he'd eat it. He'd give anything to be eating something... drinking something... Even being able to sit down, just for a few minutes, would be worth his weight in gold.

But it's no use bargaining when there's no one here to bargain with.

He supposes he could ask the Six, but he's never exactly been the worshipping type. Besides, the Six didn't really _work_ like that, giving any old mortal anything they want just because they asked nicely. He's not really sure _how_ they work at all.

Maybe Noctis would know. He's... something. Prompto doesn't really know the details, honestly, other than there's something important that Noctis has to do with the crystal before he can become king.

"What do you have to do?” he remembers asking, and Noctis had shrugged.

”Man, I don't even know.” He'd leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. Prompto had worried that maybe he'd asked too much, because any time the conversation stumbled into prince stuff he always seemed to get down about it, but then Noctis continued, “Probably a lot of bullshit.”

Prompto had laughed, said, “Hey, it might be really cool. Like, a big adventure or something.”

“You watch too much TV.” Noctis had turned his head to look at him, considering. “But if that's what it is, you should come, too.” He reached over and tapped the camera hanging from Prompto's neck. “You can take pics of the whole thing.”

Prompto had smiled, though it was a bit smaller than normal, unsure of himself.

“You'd... really want me to come with you?”

“Yeah.” Noctis had smiled back, and it was so sincere it stunned Prompto. “It'd be no fun without you.”

Prompto's eyes slip closed at the memory, letting the warmth of it wash over him. The way Noctis had smiled at him, had invited him along with no hesitation. Even if it were all hypothetical, it still touched Prompto's heart in a way no one ever had before, not even Lady Lunafreya in her note.

He tries to hold onto that warmth, and forget about his aching knees and empty stomach and parched throat for awhile.

* * *

The house is quiet and unassuming. The lights are off, though that doesn't mean anything during the day. Still, it gives off an air of being empty.

The three of them walk to the door, Ignis and Noctis side by side and Gladio hanging a step back, glancing around the neighborhood as they walk. No one is out and about.

They ring the doorbell and wait for awhile, but no one answers. They try again, but everything is still.

“It would seem no one is home,” says Ignis, a minute after the third ring, and Noctis scoffs.

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“So what now?” asks Gladio, looking at Noctis and not Ignis for instruction. He thinks about it.

“Prom told me he's been leaving a back window open. There's a stray cat he leaves food out for.”

“So what, he just... leaves a window open so a mangy cat can get in? All the time?”

“I guess.”

“That's weird.”

Noctis rolls his eyes, then steps off the front step, headed around the house. “It's a way in.”

“Noct,” says Ignis, sounding only slightly on edge, suddenly. “That's _trespassing_.”

“It's not like I'm gonna steal anything.”

“Regardless, it's illegal to enter someone's house without permission.” Ignis follows quickly behind him as he walks, though doesn't physically try to stop him. “Not unless law enforcement has a good reason.”

“We haven't heard from Prompto in almost a day, isn't that good enough of a reason?” Noctis snaps, whirling on Ignis. The other boy has a stony look on his face behind his glasses. “If he isn't here, then where is he?”

“There are plenty of perfectly reasonable explanations for why he and his family might not be home on a Saturday.”

“And are any of those reasonable explanations for why he can't just text me?”

Ignis's expression falters. He's silent for a moment, then says softly, “Only the unpleasant ones.”

That's enough. Noctis turns again.

“I'm going in.”

Gladio only grunts in acknowledgement. He's been hanging back this whole time, now he steps up alongside Noctis, waving at Ignis.

“You might as well come too.”

They walk. Ignis mutters, “This is _trespassing_ ,” again, but he follows.

The window is open like Noctis expected. Before, when Prompto had told him about it, he'd thought it was almost _cute_ that Prompto would literally open his home to the cat like that. Now, standing here and looking at it, he suddenly thinks of all the things that could happen. Anyone could get in the house. What if Prompto had walked in on a burglary or something and the robber hurt him. What if a creep got in through the window while he was sleeping?

What if that person is still in there?

Gladio must be having similar thoughts, because he stops Noctis before he crawls through the window. “Wait here,” he says, and then he pulls himself through.

They wait for awhile, both of them being silent so they can hear if something happens. Despite being so huge, Gladio moves quietly through the house, checking each room, and they can't make out any sign of his progress.

Not until he starts calling, “Hey, Prompto! This is Gladio Amicitia. We met at Noct's place? Come out if you're here.”

Silence for a few minutes longer, then Prompto's back door swings open abruptly, revealing Gladio standing alone.

“No one's here,” he announces, and steps back to let Noctis and Ignis inside.

The house looks surprisingly un-lived in, Noctis thinks as he enters. All the furniture is tidy, no pillows out of place like when Prompto would sprawl out on the couch at his apartment, chairs perfectly sat at the table like no one has used them. There's a dish and a cup in the sink, though they're both dry, suggesting they've been there longer than today. There's a small dish set under the open window, but it's empty, only a few crumbs of what he guesses was cat food left behind.

Ignis walks over and closes the window, then fills up the dish with food he finds in a cabinet. He takes it and sets it outside. Noctis ignores this activity in favor of searching the house.

He's not sure what he was hoping for, really. A note telling him where Prompto had gone? There's no reason for Prompto to have assumed Noctis would be snooping around his house, so no such luck.

He climbs the stairs and looks around until he finds what is clearly Prompto's bedroom. There's not much in here, other than some old action figures and a bunch of framed pictures. He's surprised to see that the bed has been made; Prompto didn't really strike him as the type, but maybe his mother did it for him?

There's a charging station for a camera on his desk, and a phone charger. Both are empty.

He bends closer to the desk, looking over it for any clues. Nothing really stands out to him, though he pauses when he sees one framed picture. It's of the two of them, a selfie Prompto had taken at the arcade. He's leaning back with his arms folded over his chest, grin cocky, while Prompto smiles big, wide, and open, giving the camera a peace sign.

Noctis stares at it for a moment. Prompto's smile is normally so contagious, and Noctis feels an unbidden and frightening lurch in his chest when he wonders if he'll ever see it again.

“Noct,” he hears Ignis call suddenly, and it shakes him out of his reverie. “Come take a look at this.”

He goes back downstairs. Ignis is still in the kitchen, eyes fixed on a calendar on the wall. Leave it to Specs to focus on something boring like that.

“What is it?”

Ignis reaches out and taps a date as Noctis draws close. It's over two weeks away, and it's been circled, with the words, “M&D Come Home” written in red ink inside.

Noctis's eyes widen. “M and D...”

“What's that mean?” asks Gladio from behind him. But he doesn't really have to ask. They all know.

“...How long have they been gone?” Noctis asks, and Ignis unhooks the calendar from the wall. They flip through the pages, back two months, and find a date circled with the words “M&D to Accordo” written with the same pen.

“Two months, it would seem,” Ignis says, and though his tone is as measured as always, there's a hint of real concern there. “Noct, did he ever mention this to you?”

“...No.” Noctis's brow is furrowed as he stares at the words, trying to remember Prompto even _hinting_ that this might be the case. “I mean, he mentions his parents every now and then, but not... not that they went anywhere.”

“So his folks aren't even in the country,” says Gladio, slowly, as the implications set in. “If he didn't come home last night, no one would know.”

“And so, no one would report him missing,” Ignis concludes, and the concern in his voice is more heightened now.

“ _Shit_ ,” Noctis hisses, slamming his fist down on the kitchen counter. The other two make no move to stop him. “So no one knows where he is, or if he's even been home.”

“What're our options here?” asks Gladio, looking at Ignis.

“Well... _we_ could report him missing, but since we aren't his parents or guardians, I doubt they'll take it very seriously if it hasn't even been twenty four hours. Especially as I'd rather not admit we came into his house without permission.”

“What about the Crownsguard?” Noctis demands, and Ignis shakes his head.

“Too many skirmishes with the Empire lately; most of who is still here are resting or preparing to be sent out into the field, or are training the Glaives.” Noctis scowls, and Ignis adds, “But I could request that the regular patrols keep an eye out around the wall for him.”

“Okay. Do that. What else?”

“We could go around to the places he hangs out. Ask the neighbors,” Gladio suggests. “Maybe find out if he's at least been around here recently.”

Noctis puts his face in his hands and forces back a frustrated noise. It's distressingly little, when he just wants to tear Insomnia apart and find his friend.

“We aren't going to find him standing around here,” says Gladio, and he nods, lowering his hands.

“Right. Let's get moving, then.”

Before they leave, he stops to find piece of paper and a pen. He scribbles a message down, then leaves it on the fridge with a magnet.

_If you see this, please call me._

_\- Noct_

“Don't worry, princess,” says Gladio as they walk back to the car. “We'll find him.”

* * *

They don't find him.

At least, not that night. Though they ask all around the neighborhood if anyone has seen him and go by all his favorite spots, they can't find anyone who's seen him recently. The latest was a woman working in a nearby grocery store who saw him Thursday afternoon, but Noctis himself had seen Prompto Friday. They even found the number for the teacher who hosted Prompto's remedial class, but she reported that she had seen him leave the school building.

The trail is completely cold after that.

It's dark when Ignis finally convinces Noctis that they should stop for now, Gladio nearly forcing him into the car. It's not even that late yet, but Noctis feels like he's run two marathons, criss-crossing Insomnia for any sign of his best friend. He must look it too, given the way even Gladio isn't giving him any shit anymore.

By then, Ignis had called in that Prompto appeared to be missing, omitting the part where they went inside his house. The police at first said that if Ignis wasn't the parent or guardian of Prompto, it really wasn't any business of his if the kid was gone somewhere on a weekend – after stressing that this was a dear friend of the prince's, that at least got the officer to promise that he would put a patrol on it. But Noctis isn't expecting much on that front.

They're on the way back to his apartment, Noctis looking down at his phone and wishing in vain that a text from Prompto would magically appear, when something occurs to him.

“Emergency cellphone tracking... almost every citizen in Insomnia is hooked up to it, right?” he says suddenly, and Ignis glances at him through the rearview mirror.

“Yes... almost everyone who has a cellphone capable of connecting to wifi, anyway.”

“Then we can use that to track it, right? If we know where his phone's been, at least that's a starting point.”

“That _is_ an idea,” Ignis agrees, though he looks pensive. “However, that system is only to be used if a citizen is missing, wanted for a crime, or the cellphone itself is reported stolen.”

“And it has to be on and connected to wifi,” Gladio adds.

“Prompto _is_ missing,” Noctis practically growls, and Ignis gives a nearly imperceptible sigh.

“Yes, I realize this. However, the police still do not _officially_ consider him missing, under the circumstances.”

“So what? I'm the prince. Make it happen,” Noctis huffs, folding his arms.

“Need I remind you of the ethical and moral issues of anyone, even the crown prince, being able to track a given citizen on a pure whim-”

“It's not a whim!” Noctis yells before he can stop himself, slamming his fist into the back of Ignis's seat so hard and suddenly that Ignis actually hits the brake in shock. They careen off onto the shoulder, the car behind them honking furiously before pulling around them. The driver flips them off, but none of them notice.

Gladio's too busy turning around in his seat, glaring down at Noctis.

“What the hell, you idiot! Are you trying to make Ignis wreck the car or what!?”

Noctis gapes at the spot where his fist hit the driver's seat. Ignis is very pointedly not turning around, but he can see where his hands are too white, gripping the steering wheel.

“...Shit.” He pulls his hand back, cradling it to his chest like it's on fire. “Sorry, Specs. Ignis. I'm so-”

“Sorry isn't going to cut it,” Gladio snaps. “I get that you're worried. We all are. But we aren't the enemy here, so don't treat us like it!”

“I know.” Noctis buries his face in his hands, trying to take deep breaths, the way his father used to tell him to when he had bad dreams. “I know. I'm sorry.”

The inside of the car is very quiet for a moment. It's Ignis that breaks it, saying simply, “Apology accepted.” Gladio must give him a look, because then he adds, “We're all a bit on edge here. Let's calm down.” When Noctis looks up, he seems more relaxed.

“And... I understand that you don't want to do this on a mere whim. My choice of words was... unfair.”

“...Yeah, well... you're just trying to keep me from causing some kind of scandal here. I get it.” He sighs, because he _does_ get it, even if it's frustrating.

“I only want to you to understand the consequences of what you're asking.” Ignis finally turns to look back at him. “This might be painted as using your position to overstep the laws your father put into place.”

“And if Prompto is fine, it's kinda creepy,” adds Gladio in a voice that's only half teasing.

“Yeah. I get all that.” Noctis looks them both in the eye in turn, so they know he really _does_ understand. “But... I just want to know if he's safe. Even if I get in trouble, even if he's pissed at me over it... If something's wrong, and I could have helped him by doing this, I won't be able to forgive myself.”

Both Ignis and Gladio stare at him a moment; there's a small smile growing on Ignis's face, but it's Gladio that speaks first.

“Huh. You care about him that much?”

His eyes are a little too sharp, and Noctis suddenly feels his face heat up; not much, but he just knows his cheeks are red, even in the dim lighting inside the car. He grunts and looks out the window.

“Well yeah,” he says, trying not to sound embarrassed. “He's my best friend. Duh.”

“Uh-huh,” is all Gladio says to that, turning back around with a snort that sounds a little too much like a laugh. Ignis also faces forward, putting the car in drive once again.

“When we get back to the apartment,” he says, “I'll make some calls.”

* * *

They order takeout no one is really up for eating. Gladio goes to pick it up, and he and Noctis sit at the table and pick at it while Ignis shows off his polite arguing skills on the phone. Occasionally he'll say something that makes Gladio laugh under his breath, as he maneuvers around officials who aren't particularly interested in taking orders from the advisor to the prince.

After what feels like forever, he returns, sitting down at the table and picking up whatever food is left. He eats, more out of necessity than anything.

“They said they'll put someone on it in the morning,” he says.

“The morning?” Noctis repeats, incredulous.

“Yes.” Ignis looks as neutral as ever, but he has a hard edge to his voice that betrays his anger. “The official I talked to said he had more important things to attend to first than... tracking down the prince's playmate.”

Noctis narrows his eyes, but bites back his anger. He doesn't want to take it out on Ignis again, not when Ignis has been doing more to help today than he has. Gladio's disgusted, “What the _fuck_?” takes care of it for him, anyway.

“So what do we do in the meantime?” Noctis asks instead, looking between them both. Ignis pauses to chew and swallow, giving his head a shake.

“Getting some rest is the best and only thing to do for now. I know that's not a very satisfying answer, but if we're rested then we'll be ready when they get the results to us.”

It's not satisfying at all, but Noctis knows it's all they have right now. So he nods, and gets up, abandoning the rest of his food.

“I'm gonna go to bed, then. Night.”

“Night,” echo the other two. They don't try to stop him as he goes to his room.

He sits on his bed and pulls out his phone, checking his texts one last time. Still nothing new from Prompto. The word _BUSTED_ sits there mockingly, and he almost wonders if it was actually some kind of code.

He closes his messages and opens his photos, flipping through them idly. There are some pictures of him with Gladio, Ignis, and occasionally Iris, but the overwhelming majority have Prompto in them. There's even one from yesterday, a quick shot he snapped of Prompto kneeling to take a picture of a bee on a flower. He'd done it fast and slipped his phone in his pocket before Prompto could catch him.

He wishes he could go back in time to that moment, when Prompto was right there in front of him, smiling, laughing, engrossed in his photography. When Noctis knew for sure he was okay, and wasn't worried out of his mind trying to find him.

If he could go back, he would stay and wait until after his class. Get him to go ahead and come back to the apartment to play games. Maybe even spend the night. Then Noctis would know for sure, he's safe.

But he can't go back in time. Pictures are just that; snapshots of a moment he can't get back.

Noctis doesn't sleep.

* * *

He's floating again.

The goo is around him, pressing in on all sides. He can almost feel the wires in his arms now; they itch, and he longs to reach up and scratch, but for some reason he can't move his hands. He looks out beyond the goo, through the glass, and sees the people in lab coats and the people in uniform, walking around and talking and pointing to things. Pointing at him, emphatically, and saying something.

One in a lab coat comes over. They tap on the glass. They say something over their shoulder.

He knows what's coming, he knows what they're going to do. He starts crying, shaking his head, begging, _no no no_ , but they can't hear him because there's something over his mouth, because the goo is keeping him from speaking, because he _can't_ speak-

They press the button and he screams.

Prompto wakes up, screams muffled against the tape. He's never had that dream so vividly before. He's never woken up and _remembered_.

He doesn't know what it means, he doesn't understand it at all, but there's a terror deep in his gut that won't go away. He opens his eyes, looks at the dark room beyond his prison, lit only by an exit sign, looks at the walls of the locker around him, and thinks of those strange people, in their lab coats and uniforms, and all that goo pressing against him-

_I want out._

He throws his body against the door. The locker shudders, gives a metallic ring, but doesn't budge.

_I want out._

He slams himself against it again. More of the same.

_I want out I want out I want out LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT-_

With each iteration he slams himself against the door, again and again and again, the words coming out slurred and nonsensical through the tape. After some time he feels pain in his head, and something warm start to drip down his face.

Still...

_LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT_

He screams and screams and screams until he can't take the pain in his head and his shoulders anymore and finally collapses against the back of the locker, panting, tears streaking down his face.

_Please,_ he whispers, the plea sticking to the tape and going nowhere.

It doesn't matter. There's no one to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm running with the idea here that Lucis might have a monarchy but it's not a dictatorship, and Noctis especially is just the bratty teen prince no one really takes seriously (yet).
> 
> I mean Regis could probably kick their asses into gear but you can't just call your dad and make him solve all your problems! (That would cut the whump short.)
> 
> Thank you for reading and for all the lovely comments! <3


	3. Sunday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some non-sexual underage nudity in this chapter if you care.

Prompto's phone beeps a warning at him sometime later. Low battery.

He's surprised it's only now dying. He charged it with the portable charger Noctis got him for his birthday during his last class, and he's hardly used it since, but it's still incredible the old thing managed to hold out this long. It doesn't have much longer now, though.

Prompto knows he should probably make another attempt to pull his hands out of the tape before it dies completely, but he's just _so tired_. His wrists are sore from his earlier attempts, and his head hurts, a dull but constant ache. His legs are unbelievably sore and he longs to sit down and stretch them. Hunger is now a constant gnawing feeling, and thirst makes him dizzy. He's not sure he has any strength left to dredge up if he even wanted to.

Besides, his phone hasn't buzzed at him once since earlier, when, he assumes, Noctis was trying to find out where he was. No one's tried to call him, no one's sent more texts. Noctis probably got fed up with waiting for him and that was it. No one's trying to find him now.

His phone makes a noise to signal that it's shutting down, and Prompto makes no move to do anything about it.

He thinks it must be nice to shut off like that. Turn everything off, and just... drift.

* * *

Gladio comes into the room without knocking, saying, “Get up. They called Ignis.”

Noctis throws his sheets off and gets out of bed in one fluid motion, following right on Gladio's heels back into the living room. Ignis is talking on the phone, giving someone his official email address. Noctis glances at the clock over the oven and sees it's a little after six thirty in the morning.

“How long will this take?” Ignis asks, pauses, then hums in response. That alone already has Noctis on edge, and he grits his teeth. Gladio must notice, because he puts a hand on Noctis's shoulder.

“I see. Thank you. We'll be watching for the email. Goodbye.”

He hangs up the phone and turns back to the other two. “Thirty minutes,” he says, before Noctis has to ask.

He hisses a breath through his teeth, forcing back a meltdown. Thirty minutes is _hardly_ ideal, but it's better than nothing. He tells himself it's not that long at all.

“You still haven't gotten any messages, right?” asks Ignis, and Noctis curses to himself, realizing he didn't check. He hardly slept at all, and would have heard the phone go off, but just in case he runs back to look.

Nothing. Only the same texts as always.

He returns to the living room slowly, feet shuffling on the floor. He pauses in the doorway, looking over his two friends, sharing coffee and talking in low voices.

He feels miserable, but he knows the other two are just as worried about Prompto, and they've done so much to help. And they're still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, he realizes.

“Uh, hey,” he says, and the other two stop talking abruptly, turning to look at him. “I probably don't have anything that'll fit you, Gladio, but... do you want some clean clothes to change into, Specs?”

It's the least he can offer, after the way he acted yesterday.

Ignis looks mildly surprised he offered (Noctis wonders if he should be offended or ashamed at that reaction), but shakes his head. “It's alright. These will do until we've found Prompto and made sure he's safe.”

“Won't be long now.” Gladio huffs in feigned annoyance, though the other two know better. “That kid owes me big time for causing all this trouble.”

“I'm sure he'll be happy to make it up to you, once we find him,” says Noctis, and it helps remind him, too. _We_ are _going to find him._

He walks over to the kitchen, fishes an energy drink out of the fridge, then sits down next to Ignis. He downs it while the other two drink their coffee.

And they wait.

* * *

Prompto laughs.

He doesn't really know why. It bubbles up out of his throat unbidden, hindered by the tape but still there, audible to his own ears if no one else's. Unmistakably a laugh.

He leans his head against the back of the locker, looks up and thinks, _This is it. I've finally cracked._ He laughs again, a bitter, touched sound.

It's as though the absurdity of the entire situation has finally caught up with him. Four guys threw him in here, for what? Laughs? Might as well give them what they want, he thinks, and does.

And to think this all happened because he forgot his camera. His _camera_! Of all things to forget! Stupid, stupid Prompto. You can't even keep up with your most prized possession, and for that, you pay the price. He laughs again, at himself, at his carelessness.

Of course, he wouldn't have been coming back so late, if it weren't for the remedial class. He remembers the text Noctis sent him about it, before he got his phone taken away.

_ill help you pass ur next one, then u won't be stuck in there_

That is a truly awful pun. He better see Noctis again, so he can tell him just what a terrible joke that is.

He laughs at that thought.

He laughs, because he has no more tears left in him.

* * *

“Here it is,” Ignis announces, and both Noctis and Gladio crowd in close to see his phone screen over his shoulder. He opens the email, frowning as he reads the text aloud.

“At around two thirty this morning, the phone either lost power or internet connection, because they couldn't get any data after that. They managed to get the last fifteen hours' worth of data before then.”

“That's almost five hours ago,” says Noctis, frowning. “He could go a long way in five hours...”

“Let's not panic until we see what the data says,” says Ignis, and opens the attachment.

There are two documents: one, a list of coordinates taken over the fifteen hours before two thirty AM, the other, a map with a dot indicating location. For a long moment, the three of them can only stare in stunned silence, before Gladio snaps, “What the hell? Did they send us the wrong file?”

Every single coordinate is the same, both latitude and longitude. They don't show movement, not even a tenth of a degree. The map shows them the general area of those coordinates – a familiar sight to Noctis.

“Assuming this _is_ the right data,” muses Ignis, “then... it would seem that Prompto never left the school.”

“That doesn't make any sense.”

Noctis stares at the data in equal confusion for a long moment, before suddenly he feels his mouth go dry. “His phone. The teacher took his phone.”

“And what, you think she kept it?” asks Gladio, skeptically. Noctis hunches in on himself, feeling panic rise in his throat.

“She... she must have. How _else_ do you explain his phone not moving all weekend?”

Gladio and Ignis look at each other, before Ignis grudgingly admits, “That _would_ be the most likely explanation...”

“But his teacher didn't mention keeping his phone, right? When we called her yesterday.”

“Yes, but I assumed she had given it back and so didn't ask.” Ignis worries his lip just slightly. “Perhaps we ought call her and make sure.”

The conversation feels like it's far away to Noctis's ears. The only explanation is that the phone was left at school. That means Prompto could be anywhere – he could be anywhere, and anything could be happening to him, and he doesn't even have a way to call anyone. The crushing reality that after all that work, they're back at square one, weighs so heavily on Noctis that he feels like he might shatter.

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice is strained. Ignis gives him a worried look and even Gladio is openly concerned, but he turns away from them, staggering toward the couch. “Yeah, call her. Tell me what she says.”

But he's convinced he already knows what the answer is going to be, and it scares him more than anything.

* * *

Prompto feels like he's dying, and he doesn't know how he can possibly make it however many hours he has left.

His legs are a constant, solid pain, and every other muscle in his body is cramped and achey. His stomach twists and roils from lack of food and water, and his throat is sore from screaming. His head throbs. There isn't a single part of him that isn't pure misery.

He's not sure he can make it to Monday morning anymore. And even then, what if he's not let out immediately? What if he has no strength left to call for help? What if the person who owned this locker is gone?

He imagines being left in here until someone is reassigned this locker next semester.

He imagines his corpse falling out.

* * *

She doesn't answer immediately, and Ignis has to remind them both that it's still quite early on a Sunday.

They wait almost another full hour, during which Noctis balls up on his couch and chokes down the granola bar and yogurt Gladio forces on him. He stares at the wall and waits for the verdict.

Finally, Ignis's phone rings with a returned call, and he quickly answers. They listen while he explains that it's him again, and exchanges idle pleasantries and apologizes for disturbing her so early, before moving on to the topic at hand.

“I was calling to ask you about Prompto Argentum again... No, I'm afraid we still haven't found him. But I _was_ wondering about something; you took away his phone Friday during class, is that correct?” A pause, and then, “Did you give it back to him afterwards?” Another pause, and then Ignis hums and says, “I see.”

He thanks her for her time and hangs up. Noctis balls his hands into fists so tight he's close to cutting his palms with his fingernails, bracing himself for the bad news.

He's not expecting it when Ignis says simply, “She returned it to him before he left.”

“...What?” he snaps, not believing his ears. Wondering if Ignis is tricking him for some sick reason. But Ignis looks perfectly serious.

“She gave it to him. He has it, wherever he is.”

“Or at least had it when he left,” says Gladio with a nod. Noctis just blinks at them.

“So, what? He dropped it? Left it somewhere? That still doesn't help us, if he's not with his phone.”

“Yes, but that assumes that the phone hasn't moved because Prompto parted with it. There is also the possibility that Prompto _himself_ hasn't moved.”

Noctis opens his mouth, but whatever he was going to say in response dies on his tongue as his mind goes through the possibilities. Prompto, ill, collapsing somewhere and lying prone all weekend. Or getting attacked, trying to crawl for help as his strength failed him. Lying somewhere, hopefully still alive and praying for rescue.

“Even if he's not there, it's a starting point.” Gladio starts for the door. “If we don't find him, we might find clues.”

“We really should have gone there sooner,” Ignis says, turning to follow him. “That _is_ his last known location.”

They stop at the door, looking back at Noctis. Waiting for him to make the decision.

He doesn't hesitate this time.

“Alright. Let's go to the school, then.”

* * *

Prompto wonders if Noctis is worried about him.

* * *

Ignis makes a call to a school official as he drives, requesting keys to the building as a matter of “great importance to the Crownsguard.” Whoever it is must be giving him pushback, because finally Ignis says, voice cold as ice, “If you're going to continue to argue with me then I _will_ have to get the king involved, and I assure you His Majesty will not appreciate being bothered over this.”

That must work, because a moment later, Ignis is saying much more warmly, “Thank you kindly.” He hangs up his phone, then says, “There will be someone there to give us keys when we arrive.”

Noctis doesn't know how he has it in him, but his mouth quirks up in the faintest of grins. “Nice bluff, Specs.”

“If this experience has taught me anything, it's that sometimes being entirely truthful is only an impediment to progress.”

They pull up to the school not ten minutes later, and sure enough, someone is waiting with the keys. The man holding them blanches a bit when Gladio reaches over and rips them out of his hands, and Ignis lingers briefly only to reassure him that the keys will be returned to the office the next day.

The cellphone data only shows them that Prompto's phone has been in the vicinity of the school, using the school's public wifi. It doesn't show them where it is, precisely.

So they go looking.

…

The better part of an hour later, they reconvene by the front office. Noctis is already kneeling outside it, his face in his hands, and it only takes a glance when the others stop in front of him to know they haven't found anything, either.

“He's not here,” says Noctis, rubbing one hand through his hair. “We checked everywhere, right?”

“Yeah. Been callin' for him, too.”

“Let's not give up,” says Ignis, rubbing his chin with one glove hand. “Did we find anything that might give us a clue?”

Gladio and Noctis look at each other, then both shake their heads. Nothing to show for all that searching.

“Forget it, Specs. His teacher said she saw him leave the building.”

“Yes, she did.” Ignis pauses to think, then snaps his fingers. “The building, but not the _campus_.”

Noctis looks up at him, arching an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Are there other buildings that aren't part of this one? I saw one, over there.” He gestures off over Noctis's shoulder.

“That's the auditorium.” Noctis points the other way. “And over there's the gym... but why would he go to the...”

His eyes widen, and he jumps to his feet, walking quickly. Ignis and Gladio fall into step behind him.

“His camera. He had it at lunch... put it in his locker during PE. I don't remember him having it after that.”

“So he went to the gym to find his camera,” Ignis finishes, and they hurry down a hallway and out the door.

And there it is, as though placed by the gods right in their path: that exact camera. The lens is smashed, but otherwise it seems okay, and Noctis jogs over to pick it up.

“...What the hell?” he mutters, turning it and examining the cracks. “Who did this?”

“You don't think he just dropped it?” asks Gladio, and Noctis shakes his head.

“No, he was way too careful with this thing... and even if he had, he would have taken it to get it fixed.” Noctis runs his finger over the lens, feeling the breaks. “He worked all summer to get this. Wouldn't let me give him even a cent to help out. Wanted it to be something he earned, all on his own.”

“Sounds like the kind of thing that can only get taken from someone kicking and screaming.” Gladio looks around the courtyard, like he expects an assailant to pop out at any moment.

“Perhaps the pictures on the camera could shed some light on the subject,” Ignis suggests, tapping the camera's view screen, and Noctis turns it around and boots it up. It flashes a low battery signal at him, but the thumbnails of all Prompto's pictures eventually show up on screen, scrolled to the ones from the last few days.

Noctis can see, in the tiny rectangles, images from their lunch together. Flowers, leaves in the trees, people out enjoying the sunshine.

“Lots of shots of you,” says Gladio coyly, and Noctis feels his cheeks tinge as he huffs, “Shut up,” back.

At the very end are four pictures that look different from all the others. Instead of being bright outdoor shots, they're dark, probably indoors. Noctis can tell that the flash went off, but whoever took those pictures didn't do the best job. It's impossible to tell what the shot is of just from the thumbnail, thanks to the saturation of light.

He clicks one, bringing it to full size, and his heart plummets into his stomach.

“That's...” Noctis whispers, thrusting the camera toward Ignis and Gladio. The other two look at it for only a moment before Ignis goes a few shades whiter, and Gladio hisses, “ _Astrals_.”

There, in the picture, is Prompto, lying on the ground, wrists seemingly bound behind him, mouth covered with tape. He's crying, and from the blur of the picture it's clear he's trying to struggle. The sight turns Noctis's stomach violently, and he has to swallow hard to keep from retching.

“...Do you think this was a kidnapping?” asks Gladio, sounding unsure of himself. All of them know that being so close to Noctis, the prince of a country at war, can be dangerous, but none of them have ever been in such a situation before. All three had been through training, had been presented with scenarios, but now, faced with the actuality, they all feel lost.

“Someone kidnapped him... because he's friends with me.” Noctis feels his stomach twist again, and he closes his eyes and breathes through his nose.

“Let's not jump to conclusions,” says Ignis, though he sounds breathless, young, eighteen years old and not the grown man he by necessity has to be. “There's... we don't know what happened yet. Let's... let's just calm down and _think_ about this.”

He takes the camera from Noctis, bringing the screen closer to his face. “There must be a clue here,” he says, more to himself than anyone, scrolling through the other three pictures of Prompto, prone on the ground. “There... has to be something.”

A tense moment passes, during which Noctis feels the despair build, before Ignis thrusts the camera toward him again. “Noct, are those lockers behind him?”

He takes the camera, squints.

“...Yeah, that's... That has to be the boys' locker room.”

He recognizes it now, though it's hard to tell in the blurry, saturated photo. Blue lockers, shining from the flash, behind Prompto. The floor a dingy, familiar gray.

“Well let's not stand around out here,” says Gladio, heading for the gym, and they hurry to follow, Noctis slipping the camera strap over his neck.

The first thing they see inside is a book bag. It's lying on the ground, books and papers scattered everywhere around it, like it's been thrown. It's yellow, with a black print of chocobos in profile all down the flap.

It's unmistakably Prompto's.

“Looks like there was a fight, or something. His bag got knocked out of his hands,” says Gladio; Noctis barely looks at it before he turns and makes a beeline for the locker room. Urgency fuels him, and he breaks into a jog, bursting through the door so hard it smacks the wall.

“ _Prompto_!”

* * *

There's the buzz of fluorescents coming on, and then harsh light is filtering through the slats in the door, and Prompto blinks rapidly as his eyes adjust. He can't see anything, and for a moment is so confused that he can't hear much either, not through the pounding of his head. He has to take deep breaths, squinting to see out into the locker room.

His first thought is that it's Monday morning. That somehow, he made it.

And then, finally, he hears a noise – had heard it before, but only now does it start to make sense to his sluggish senses.

“Prompto! Are you here!?”

His second thought is that he must be dreaming, because that is definitely Noctis's voice. But he can feel every pain in his body, so he can't be asleep. Maybe he's skipped straight to hallucinations.

“Prompto!?” the voice calls again, followed by footsteps, and then there's a shadow falling over the slats in the locker door and someone steps in front of it, and Prompto's heart leaps with hope because he can _see_ Noctis _right there_ , looking for _him_ , and he decides if this is a dream, he's going to indulge it.

“Noct!” he screams against the burn in his throat, and though it's muffled, he knows Noctis hears him when he abruptly stops, looking around. “Noct! Please, in here, please!” He throws all his weight against the door once, twice, one last time, the locker shuddering and ringing with the force of it. The remains of his waning strength goes into one last cry, but it's enough, because blue eyes are peering at him through the slats, wide with shock.

“Prompto! J-just hang on, we're gonna get you out of there, okay?”

“It's a combination lock...” Ignis's voice now, though Prompto can't see him around Noctis. “It would take too long to find who this belongs to, but perhaps I can pick it if-”

“Outta my way!” And suddenly Gladio is roughly pushing Noctis aside, and there's a loud clanging of metal and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor and skidding away.

“...Or you could just kick the whole thing off,” says Ignis, and Prompto would have laughed at that, if all his attention weren't focused on the locker door finally, _finally_ swinging open, Noctis standing in front of it again, eyes wide and shining with emotion.

“Prompto...”

Prompto knows he probably looks like shit. He's spent most of the weekend crying, he's had to use his own clothes as a toilet, and he's pretty sure his forehead is covered in blood. He'd like to do something to reassure his friend, really, he would, but he can't smile because of the tape and his legs are as solid as a flan, and when he tries to take a step out of the locker, he instantly falls-

-straight into Noctis's arms. They wrap around him, lower him to the ground, running soothing fingers through his bangs and saying, “It's okay, Prom, I've got you, you're gonna be okay...”

“-going to take off the tape,” Ignis is saying, and Prompto blinks, trying to focus on the older boy's face. His eyes are wide through his glasses, and it's such a strange expression for him that Prompto wants to comment on it, but, right, the tape. “I'm going to do it quickly. Like pulling off a bandaid. Alright?”

Prompto closes his eyes, thinking of how bad this is going to hurt. He shudders, and Noctis grips him closer, and Ignis hums.

“There are safer and less painful means we could employ, but we'd need to go back to Noct's apartment-”

Prompto nods, swiftly, opening his eyes again and looking into Ignis's. He can't stand another minute with it over his mouth, and Ignis gets the message, because he nods back, and puts a hand on the tape.

“One, two,” and then he's pulling, quickly, though he uses his fingers to push down Prompto's skin as the tape pulls up, and it doesn't hurt as much as he expected. Or maybe he's just so full of pain that nothing could add to it now.

Being off his feet, though, is heavenly.

He gasps reflexively once the tape is off, reveling in the feeling of being able to move his mouth again. The skin around it feels sweaty and sticky, but he doesn't care, it feels too euphoric.

Noctis must take his gasp as one of pain, though, because he runs his fingers through Prompto's bangs again, speaking softly. “You're okay. We've got you.”

Prompto can't help but smile, just a little, as he looks up. His head is starting to swim, and his vision is going blurry around the edges, but he thinks he sees Noctis smile back.

“My hero Noct,” he whispers.

Then he passes out.

* * *

When Prompto goes limp in his arms, Noctis's heart stops beating for what feels like a full minute.

“It's alright,” says Ignis, who has two fingers on Prompto's neck, feeling for his pulse. “He's breathing fine; he's passed out from a combination of stress, exhaustion, and the sudden change in position.”

Noctis looks like he barely heard him. He's trembling, his fingers still raking through Prompto's hair, and his eyes are locked on the blood dried to the bangs.

“What the hell was he doing in a _locker_ , though?” asks Gladio, stepping around them to examine it. Noctis looks up in time to watch him look inside, wrinkle his nose, then pull the door back again, far enough that Noctis can see the smears of Prompto's blood.

He remembers the loud bangs and thuds coming from the locker and realizes with revulsion that Prompto did that to himself, banging his whole body, even his head, against the door in the hopes that someone would hear him. Bile rises in his throat, and he breaks out in a sweat.

Gladio looks back at him then, and is at his side in one huge step. “Steady there, Princess. Don't vomit on the poor kid first thing.”

He puts a hand between Noctis's shoulder blades, and Noctis swallows, breathing slowly through his nose, in and out, in time with the rise and fall of Prompto's chest.

“Yeah,” he gasps finally, giving himself a shake. Gladio's right – he can't fall apart now, not when Prompto is still in need. “Sorry.”

“Gladio,” says Ignis suddenly, commanding both their attentions. “Go fetch me some damp paper towels.”

Gladio disappears, only to return seemingly instantly holding paper towels out to Ignis. Ignis takes them, rubbing gently at the blood on Prompto's forehead. His brow furrows in pain in his sleep, and Noctis rubs on his shoulder to try and calm him.

“...Just some scrapes and superficial cuts. It looks uglier than it is.” Ignis sits back a bit, handing the now bloody towels back to Gladio, who chunks them in the trash. “Some antiseptic and a bandage should suffice. We can take care of it when we get back.”

“Let's un-tape his hands and get the hell out of here, then,” says Gladio, and both Noctis and Ignis nod.

They sit him up as best they can, pushing him to lean his chest against Noctis's. Noctis rubs at his back and arms, listening to him sigh in his sleep, while Gladio pulls out his pocket knife and carefully cuts through the tape between his wrists. He whimpers once, when they rip the tape off his skin, but settles quickly into Noctis's soothing touch, eyes still closed.

“That wrist looks bad, Iggy.”

“Hm... it is rather swollen. Perhaps a sprain.”

“We'll call the Citadel doctor,” says Noctis, voice resolute around his shaking. “She can take a look.”

“That sounds like a plan.” Ignis stands up, then looks around, considering. “You two take Prompto on to the car. I have a few things to wrap up here before we leave.”

“Sure thing.” Gladio pivots so he's more behind Prompto, holding his arms out, then laughs under his breath. “You gonna let go there, Princess?”

Noctis huffs, but eases his death grip on Prompto, sliding him back into Gladio's waiting arms. “Just don't shake him, freaking behemoth.”

“Don't worry, I passed Carrying Bratty Princes with flying colors. This'll be easy.”

He shifts Prompto into the most comfortable position possible given the circumstances, then gets up, Noctis hovering beside him. They both look at Ignis, who is looking around the room with the critical eye he uses for everything.

“What should we do about his bag?” Gladio asks, and Noctis opens his mouth to say he'll grab it, but Ignis interrupts him.

“Leave it. We don't want to tamper anymore with this crime scene.”

He has his phone out, and it clicks then what he has left to do. They still don't know who did this to Prompto, but it won't be long before they find out. And then...

“Give 'em hell, Specs,” says Noctis, and then he follows Gladio out to the car.

* * *

They stretch Prompto out the best they can in the backseat, his head pillowed in Noctis's lap. Normally, Prompto sat in the front, to help his motion sickness, but they had a feeling trying to make him sit up would be just asking for him to smack his already damaged head into the dashboard and get a concussion.

“I still don't get it,” says Gladio, sliding into the front seat, but turned to look at Noctis. “Why would someone force him in a locker?”

“Don't know.” And Noctis doesn't want to think about it too hard; he's barely holding himself together as it is. Prompto had been in there since Friday. _Friday_.

He runs his hand through his friend's hair again, just to remind himself that Prompto is with him now, and not trapped in there anymore.

“S'weird. Juvenile, and brutal at the same time.” Gladio glares at the radio, like if he does it hard enough, he can make the heads of whoever did this explode through malice alone. “They better be glad Ignis is sicking the police on them. If they're in custody, then _I_ can't get to them.”

“Save some for me,” Noctis growls, and Gladio turns to him, looks between him and Prompto's peaceful face.

“...Not that I'm against you getting your princely revenge, but you better stick with that one for awhile.” Gladio sighs, looking out the window to watch for Ignis. “He's gonna need it.”

They sit in silence for awhile, both of them lost in thought, until Ignis finally returns, gliding smoothly into the driver's seat. He's got a special sort of look in his eye, the kind he gets when he manages to both tell Noctis off and get his way in the same conversation. Though it's not Noctis his disapproval is directed at, this time.

“The police are on their way as we speak, however I suggest we not wait around for them.”

“Said something ugly about an officer's mother, huh?” Gladio snorts, and Ignis rolls his eyes and puts the car into drive.

“I did no such thing. Though I _did_ give them some criticism of their handling of this matter.” His mouth quirks up in a grin. “Hopefully it hit a bit harder than a simple “your mama” joke.”

“Then why aren't we waiting for them?” asks Noctis, out of idle curiosity rather than protest. He wants to get Prompto back to his place as soon as possible, so they can get him cleaned up and fed. So he can rest, and recover.

“They want to talk to Prompto, of course, but I told them that we won't allow it until he's well, and ready to talk on his own. There are security cameras out in the gym, anyway. They shouldn't need him to identify his... attackers.”

Ignis glances back at Noctis in the rearview mirror. “Did he ever mention anyone bothering him? Or threatening him?”

Noctis thinks back, but nothing in particular comes to mind. He likes to think, if someone were bothering his best friend, he would notice that. Or if they were doing it while he wasn't around, that Prompto would tell him about it.

But then, Prompto never mentioned his parents being out of town, either.

Noctis had thought Prompto told him everything, but he's starting to realize he doesn't. Noctis's first instinct is to think that Prompto doesn't trust him, but as he looks down at the boy in his lap, looking too thin and small with tear tracks staining his cheeks, he knows that's not the problem.

“No,” he says to Ignis, but his eyes are on Prompto. He leans closer, sighing softly.

“You don't have to hide from me,” he whispers, quietly so Ignis and Gladio don't overhear. “You're never a burden.”

* * *

After they carry Prompto into the apartment, Noctis stops and hands the camera off to Gladio.

“Can you take this and see if the lens can be repaired? Preferably today.”

“Sure,” says Gladio. “Any reason we gotta do that now, though?”

Noctis shrugs, looking over at the boy currently lying on his couch. “He's been through enough. He doesn't have to know they broke his camera, too.”

Gladio nods in understanding. “Alright. I'll be back soon.”

He goes, and Noctis turns his attention to Prompto.

* * *

“Hey, Prom.”

Blink.

“Hey. Can you wake up for me?”

Blink. Another.

There's so much light in the room. He squints.

“Hey there.” It's Noctis speaking, his voice low and gentle. It takes Prompto some more blinks before things around him start to come into focus: Noctis, in front of him, bending at the waist with his hands on Prompto's shoulders. From the looks of it, they're in Noctis's bathroom, in his apartment. He's sitting on the toilet, listing a bit to the side. That must be why Noctis is holding on to him so tight.

“Nngh...” he mumbles intelligently, blinking a few more time before squinting into Noctis's face. “Noct...?”

“Yeah, it's me.” Noctis lets go of him, just barely, hands hovering like he thinks Prompto is going to topple over once he backs off completely. Prompto has a new pain in his elbow suggesting that maybe he's done that once already. “We're in my apartment. Do you remember?”

“Uh,” he croaks, and winces at the sound of his own voice. He opens his mouth to say more, but Noctis moves one hand away, grabbing something off the counter next to them and bringing it in front of Prompto's eyes.

“Water,” he says, uncapping the bottle. “Bet you're thirsty, huh?”

Oh gods is he thirsty. His throat is a desert, cracked and sweltering. But as he reaches to take the bottle, he has to stop, staring at his own hand, stunned by the simple movement.

“...Wow,” he says through his barely there voice. “You have no idea how good it feels to move my hands again.”

Noctis stares at him, then closes his eyes. It looks like he's counting to five in his head, and Prompto freezes, thinking he's made him mad somehow, but Noctis's eyes are kind and sad when they open again.

“Just... just don't say anything else upsetting until you've drank this, okay?” He nudges the bottle into Prompto's hand. “For me.”

Prompto grins a little, says, “You got it, buddy,” and takes the bottle. His hand shakes, and he feels Noctis's fingers slip around his to help him, but he manages to get a sip, and _oh_.

It's the best thing he's ever had to drink, hands down.

At Noctis's warning (most likely passed on from Ignis), he takes slow sips, though it's difficult to keep from greedily draining the whole bottle at once. It soothes his throat and calms the ache in his stomach, makes his whole body feel even just a little better.

He's almost sad when it's gone, but then Noctis takes it from him and refills it with water from the sink before handing it back. “You can keep sipping.”

He does exactly that, watching as Noctis straightens up, suddenly looking a little nervous. “I thought you might, uh...” He looks downright _embarrassed_ now, and it's enough to make Prompto laugh around the bottle. Noctis huffs and snaps, “Do you wanna take a bath?”

That makes Prompto stop laughing. Suddenly he remembers how gross and filthy he is, and now _he's_ embarrassed, feeling the flush on his face.

Instantly, Noctis goes from huffy to guilty. “Don't read too hard into it, okay? I'm not, like, making fun of you here, we just have time while Ignis is cooking, and I thought it would make you feel a little better.”

Prompto laughs again, though it's self-conscious now, despite himself. “Yeah, it probably would.”

“Alright then.” Noctis looks around for a moment, unsure of what to do with himself. He's blushing again. “Do you want me to help you, or...”

“Uh...” And now, Prompto realizes what was making Noctis so embarrassed before. Oh boy. “W-well, I'm... not totally sure I can do it myself,” he admits, face on fire. “My arms and legs are kinda... taking a vacation.”

Noctis clears his throat, nods. “Alright. Then, uh... let's do this, then.”

He sets the water running so it can warm up, then turns back to Prompto. Off go his tie and jacket – those are the easy parts. Then his shirt; that's not so bad either. Prompto changes shirts in front of Noctis all the time.

Then the pants come off. They're both blushing hard now, neither of them making eye contact. Noctis hesitates, taking interest in his granite countertops.

“Do you wanna do this part, or...?”

Prompto sighs, wholly resigned to the idea that Noctis is going to see his dick. “Just do it, dude.”

Noctis does it.

For a moment they just sit there, not sure what to do or say. The awkward silence stretches, becoming maddening, until Prompto blurts out, “You know, when I imagined someone taking my clothes off for the first time, I always thought of someone a little less red in the face.”

Noctis stares at him.

And then he's laughing, and Prompto is laughing, and suddenly they're hanging onto each other, squeezing tightly, laughing into each other's shoulders until tears roll down their cheeks.

Prompto is so happy in this moment that it feels like his heart will soar out of his chest. After everything that happened, he has somewhere safe to be. He has someone to hang on to him, and help him, and not let him go.

Finally, they pull apart from each other. “I bet you didn't imagine it'd be me, either,” Noctis wheezes as their laughter dies down.

Prompto doesn't say anything to that. He's blushing again, and Noctis quickly joins him.

“Let's get you in the bath,” Noctis says too fast, and so they do.

Prompto sits in the tub, lounging back and enjoying the feeling of the warm water on his sore muscles. Noctis rolls up his pants and sleeves, then sits on the side of the tub with his legs on either side of Prompto. He picks something up, pours it into the water; it's some kind of salt that dissolves away and leaves behind a sweet lavender scent.

“Bath salts. Don't know when Ignis decided to stash this here, but he says it's supposed to be relaxing.”

“He's so right.” Prompto breathes in the scent, sinking further into the water and closing his eyes. “This is heaven.”

“Remember to drink your water,” Noctis chides lightly, grabbing his shampoo bottle and squirting some into his hand. Prompto nods, taking slow sips while Noctis massages shampoo into his hair.

It feels so good. The aches start to work their way out of his body, his throat feels less ragged by the minute. Noctis's gentle touches even make his headache start to recede.

“Can I say something upsetting again?” Prompto asks after awhile. He feels Noctis's fingers tense on his scalp, but he doesn't stop.

“Shoot.”

“It feels _so good_ to sit down.” He stretches his legs as far as they can go; it's a big tub, but he still has to bend his knees to fit. At least he's not having to stand in a crouch anymore, though. “Like, if you had told me on Friday that by Sunday I'd be willing to trade everything I own just the for the chance to sit down for five minutes, I would have thought you were high or somethin'.”

“Well luckily for you, my apartment has plenty of quality places to sit.” Noctis grins, lifting water in his hands to start rinsing Prompto's hair. “You have my permission to park it anywhere.”

“Thanks dude,” Prompto says with a sigh, and Noctis has a feeling he means for more than being able to sit down. He sips on his water bottle for a bit longer, the silence stretching until Noctis speaks again.

“Who put you in there, anyway?”

Prompto tenses a little under his hands, and Noctis stops what he's doing to lay his palms on Prompto's shoulders.

“I mean, you don't have to tell me right now if you don't want to. I just... if you need to talk, you know?”

“No, it's okay.” Prompto pokes idly at a freckle on his knee, taking a moment before continuing. “It's just kinda pathetic, you know?”

“I doubt it,” Noctis answers, firmly, and the corners of Prompto's mouth curl up, just a bit.

“There's these four guys... they've been assholes to me before, but I just tried to ignore them.” He gives a little shrug. “I thought they were obnoxious, but ultimately harmless, right? I didn't think they'd...” He trails off, shuddering involuntarily.

Noctis's hands are in his hair again, conditioner now. He stills for a moment for his next question.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“It just seemed like a non-issue back then. Didn't want to bother you with it.”

Noctis frowns, hands sliding off Prompto's head. “Like you didn't want to bother me with your parents being gone?”

Prompto flinches. “Oh. You know about that.”

“When you didn't show up...” Suddenly, Noctis's sounds embarrassed again. “Well, uh. I just wanted to know where you were. We thought, you must have gone home, or your parents would have reported you missing, right? But there was no one home when we got there...” A pause, and then he adds, “So we went in. Sorry.”

“Wait.” Prompto sits up a little straighter. “You went _in_ my house? How did you get in!?”

A beat.

“...Oh. The window.”

“Yeah.”

“I need to stop doing that, huh?”

“Probably.”

Noctis laughs, then, and Prompto relaxes a little. The touch is back in his hair; it feels nice. He wishes Noctis wouldn't stop.

“...How long have they been gone?” he asks after a few seconds. Prompto is tempted to lie, but realizes if they've been in his house, he wouldn't get away with it.

“A few months.” He shrugs again. “It's not a big deal, dude. This isn't even the longest they've-”

And then he snaps his mouth shut, realizing what he just said. He feels Noctis stop again, tense suddenly.

“...Do they do this a lot?” Noctis finally asks, and he sounds pissed, but not at Prompto. Pissed at someone not even in the room.

“They have really... active careers,” he replies, quietly.

There's a moment of silence during which Prompto can't bring himself to look at Noctis's face, sure he's done it now. Noctis thinks he doesn't trust him, or worse, and he's considering throwing Prompto out of here, or maybe back into the locker-

But then Noctis's arms are around him, face burying in his hair, and he's gasping, “That's it. You're staying with me. At least until your parents get home.”

Prompto's throat feels tight, and he gives his head a shake. “Noct, you don't have to- I'm fine, really-”

“Damn it, Prompto, I...” He takes in a shuddering breath, and Prompto realizes that he's crying. “I was so scared when we couldn't find you. And then we realized you'd probably been out all night and no one even knew...” He sniffs, nuzzling his face more into Prompto's wet hair. “And I just can't deal with the idea of you being in your house all alone after that, so just... just humor me, okay? Stay where I can see you.”

Prompto sucks in a breath, feeling his own tears gather at the corners of his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, and the word comes out fragile, as he lifts his hands and grips onto Noctis's arms, holding him back as best he can. “Okay. I can do that.” A pause. “I... want to do that.”

“And you're not allowed to think you're bothering me anymore,” Noctis adds, squeezing Prompto's shoulders. “You're not. You never have.”

Prompto just nods, tears streaming down his face now, and he grips Noctis back. They stay that way until they've both cried themselves out, and the bath water has gone cold around them.

“Shit,” Noctis mutters when he finally lets go, sitting up and swiping an arm over his face. “I let it get cold. Sorry.”

“S'okay.” Noctis frowns, and Prompto amends, “I mean, it'd be _way_ better if it were warm, but...” He trails off haplessly.

Noctis sighs, looking around. “Let's finish up, and you can get dry.”

“That sounds good.”

They lapse into comfortable silence as Noctis grabs a washcloth and lathers up Prompto's skin, washing his arms and legs in turn. It takes some coordination, but between the two of them, they finally manage to get Prompto clean again, and Noctis was right before; he feels _so_ much better.

He lets Noctis help him up and out of the tub, then sits on the toilet while Noctis dries him with a big, warm bath towel. He produces some of his old sweatpants after that, and Prompto pulls them on. They're so comfortable, and they smell like Noctis.

“Can you walk?” Noctis asks him once he's clothed again.

“Yeah,” Prompto answers, with more confidence than he feels. He stands up, pitches forward, and immediately regrets his decision.

Noctis catches him, looping an arm around his back and pulling him close. “Okay. No walking on your own for now.”

Prompto blushes a little, but doesn't protest, leaning into Noctis as they hobble into the living room.

It smells amazing, and Prompto feels his mouth watering before he even sees any food. Noctis helps him over to the table and lowers him into a chair, then goes to help Ignis. Soon enough, food is in front of him: chicken noodle soup, and a grilled cheese sandwich that has tomatoes in it.

“I tried to stop him but he put the tomato in there anyway,” huffs Noctis, sinking into the chair next to him.

“I'd eat anything right now,” Prompto says, eyes huge as he stares at the food, never mind that he likes tomatoes just fine. His stomach is achingly empty.

“Well don't stand on ceremony for us,” says Ignis from the counter where he's putting aside a plate for Gladio, who, Prompto realizes, is conspicuously absent. “Dig in.”

He glances once at Noctis, who nods encouragingly, and then he's devouring the sandwich, barely pausing to take drinks of water and only slowing when Ignis warns him that he's going to choke. The food just tastes so good; even if it weren't Ignis's cooking, he's sure he would have the same reaction.

He's pretty sure he starts crying at some point, but no one says anything about it.

* * *

After he's finished, Noctis helps him to his feet again. Prompto thinks they're headed for the couch, so he's surprised when Noctis makes for his bedroom instead.

“Does your wrist hurt?” he asks as they walk, and he looks down at it, knowing which Noctis means. It's definitely stiffer than the other one, and it looks... weirdly puffy. He frowns at it.

“Yeah... not much worse than the other one, though.”

“The Citadel doctor is coming to check on you tomorrow,” Noctis says as he lowers Prompto to his bed. Prompto wiggles himself under the covers, though he's looking up at Noctis in surprise. “I wish she could get here sooner, but...”

“N-no, that's okay, just... do you really think it's necessary?”

“Your wrist is pretty swollen.” Noctis steps up onto the bed, over Prompto's legs, and then crashes down on the other side of him, making Prompto bounce a bit. “And, I dunno... I guess she needs to make sure you aren't dangerously dehydrated or something.”

As though that's some kind of cue, Ignis appears, holding an insulated cup full of water that he pushes into Prompto's hands.

“There's more soup that can be warmed up in the fridge, and I've also left some things you can reheat for breakfast.” He looks between the two of them on the bed, and his face softens almost imperceptibly. “If you're both alright, I was going to take my leave for tonight, and see you both tomorrow.”

“Sure, Specs,” says Noctis, as Prompto says, “Thanks for everything, Iggy.”

Ignis smiles at that, taking a step toward the bed so he can pat Prompto's shoulder.

“It's good to have you back, Prompto,” he says, and Prompto smiles.

“Good to be back.”

Ignis nods at them, then leaves, and the apartment is quiet until Noctis grabs his laptop off the side table and drags it between them.

“I thought you'd probably just want to veg out now, right?” asks Noctis, and Prompto nods.

“Yeah. Sounds great.”

Noctis turns on something on Netflix, and then settles against his headboard. After a moment, Prompto starts to droop, and Noctis reaches an arm around him and pulls him close, nestling him against his shoulder. Prompto tenses for a second, then relaxes, sinking against Noctis's chest and nuzzling his head up under Noctis's chin.

Noctis wraps his arms more securely around him, and he's asleep in minutes.

* * *

Gladio comes in later that evening, popping his head in to check on them. Noctis puts up a finger to shush him, pointing at Prompto sound asleep against his collarbone.

Gladio smirks in a way that makes Noctis blush, then comes around to the other side of the bed. He sets Prompto's camera down on the side table, and Noctis sighs in relief to see its lens is as good as new. Gladio himself looks fresher too, now, wearing clean clothes.

“How is he?” Gladio asks softly, and Noctis shrugs with one shoulder, so as not to disturb Prompto.

“He seems okay, but... we'll see.”

Gladio nods. “Figured.” He backs away again. “I'll take the couch. Let me know if you guys need something.”

“Sure. Ignis left food in the fridge.”

Gladio raises a hand to let him know he heard, then closes the door behind him. Noctis listens to his steps recede, then closes his laptop and sets it aside, before pulling himself and Prompto, still together, further under the covers.

He could really use a nap or eight, he decides. It's time to join Prompto in slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does Insomnia have Netflix? Whatever, they have Cup Noodle and Air Japan, they can have this!


	4. Monday

They'd woken Prompto up a few times before, to get him to eat or drink more, mostly. He's not fully aware of how much time is passing, but unlike in the locker, he doesn't feel afraid now. Each time he's woken up, there's a light on, and Noctis is sitting him up and rubbing his shoulders or his back, and Gladio is holding out something for him to take.

But this time, he doesn't wake up to Noctis coaxing him out of sleep, or to the smell of Ignis's cooking, still delicious even after being reheated. This time, it's dark, and when his hands fumble around, he doesn't feel Noctis beside him.

He panics.

What if it was all just a dream, and he's still in the locker, waiting for Monday? He squeezes his eyes shut, pulls his hands in to himself; he can't bear to feel or look around. If he reaches out and touches the sides of the locker, his pretty sure his heart will stop right then.

“N-noct?” he says tentatively into the space around him. There's no answer, and his heartbeat quickens. “Noct!? _Noct_!?” He's screaming now, his voice hoarse, but if there's still tape over his mouth, and if there's no one around, then no one will hear him no matter how loud he is-

There's the flip of a light switch, and suddenly hands are on his arms, a firm grip on his shoulders, and Noctis's voice is saying, “Prompto! Prompto, look at me!” He hesitates, but the warm weight of his friend's hands coaxes him into opening his eyes, blinking in the light.

“Prom, what's wrong?” Noctis is asking him, eyes roving over his face. His grip loosens a little when Prompto's eyes open, though he doesn't let go completely. “Talk to me.”

“I...” He swallows, willing his voice to sound less strained. “When I woke up, and it was dark, I thought...”

He falls silent, but Noctis understands. He pulls Prompto up into a hug (awkward, given their positions), rubbing a hand on his back.

“It's okay, Prom. You're safe. We're in my apartment. You're okay.”

Prompto shivers under his touch, burying his face in Noctis's shirt. It's soft, and smells nice, he thinks, and he lets the smell wash over him, the strokes from Noctis's hand calming him.

“...Sorry,” he finally says once his heart rate has slowed back to almost normal, and Noctis shakes his head.

“No, I shouldn't have left you alone. At least not with the light out.” Noctis finally lets go, but only so he can shift onto the bed, putting an arm around Prompto's shoulders. “My bad, man.”

“It's not your fault...”

“How about you both agree not to blame yourselves?” asks Gladio suddenly from where he's leaning on the doorframe, making them both jump. “It's the fault of the guys who think tying someone up and trapping them is funny.”

“He has a point,” says Noctis, and Prompto nods, managing a small smile.

“Thanks, big guy.”

Gladio dismisses it with a shrug. “You guys alright now?”

“I think it's time for Prompto to drink some more water.”

“On it.”

As Gladio leaves, Prompto looks around the room, and his eyes light on an object on the bedside table – one that wasn't there before.

“Ah!” he gasps, jerking away from Noctis so suddenly that Noctis flails like he needs to catch him. Prompto ignores his hands, lunging across the bed to grab his camera.

“My baby!” he coos at it, cradling it to his chest. “Where did you guys find it? I thought they took it!”

“They left it outside the gym. Figured you might want it back.”

“Ooooh, thank you thank you thank you!” Prompto trills breathlessly, holding the camera up in his hands and twisting it around, as though amazed that it's real. “I was so scared it was gone forever.”

“Better check it,” Gladio says, back from his trip to the kitchen. He tosses a water bottle at the bed, which Noctis deftly catches before it beans Prompto in the face. “Make sure those little shits didn't damage anything.”

Noctis squints at Gladio, but Prompto doesn't notice anything, eyes roving over every inch of the camera to make sure there are no breaks or cracks. After a moment, he looks through the viewfinder, then gasps and turns the camera around to examine the lens. Noctis glares at Gladio now, thinking the lens is still cracked, but then Prompto says, “There's a polarizing filter on it?”

He pops off a part of the lens (Noctis assumes that's safe to do), holding it up to the light. “Oh man,” he breathes. “This is a really nice one, too. Where did _this_ come from?”

Now Noctis raises an eyebrow at Gladio, but he just shrugs his shoulders and turns around, walking back to the living room with an innocent whistle. Prompto misses it, still examining the filter with awe.

“I don't get it... you don't think those guys...?”

“Uh,” says Noctis eloquently, casting around for a change of subject. “Let's make sure all your pictures are still there, okay?”

They must have charged the camera at the repair shop, because it comes on easily, battery much fuller than it was when they found it. Prompto flips through his photos individually, smiling and pointing out certain things to Noctis, until they hit the last four.

Prompto's smile drops off his face, and Noctis suddenly regrets suggesting this.

“...Did you see these before?” Prompto asks after a moment of silence, and Noctis swallows, then nods tentatively.

“Yeah. It's how we knew to go check the locker room.”

Prompto runs a thumb over the image as though that will erase it, change it into something else, though he makes no actual move to delete it from his camera. “I guess we'll have to show these to the police, huh?”

“Probably.”

Prompto sighs, flipping the camera off and setting it aside. He looks more drained than he has since they first found him, and Noctis pulls him a little more into his side.

“...How did you know,” Prompto starts after a bit, “to look for me at school?”

“We traced your phone,” Noctis admits, only a little sheepish. “When it showed us you hadn't moved in so long, I thought they'd just kept it all weekend instead of giving it back to you.”

Prompto leans his head back, breathing slow through his nose. “Good thing you decided to check anyway.”

“I wish we had gone to the school sooner.” Noctis moves so he can look into Prompto's face. “We were looking everywhere, though. We didn't give up.”

Prompto smiles, and though it's small, it's sincere, and _happy_ , as he looks into Noctis's eyes. “I never should have doubted. I should've known to you were coming.”

Noctis smiles back. “I've always got your back, right?”

“And I've got yours.”

And Noctis doesn't know what does it, if it's the smile on Prompto's lips, or the way he's gazing into his eyes, or just the intimacy between them right then, but something tips inside of him, and suddenly he's leaning down, pressing his lips to Prompto's.

Prompto gasps against him, and for a moment he fears he's made a mistake, but then Prompto is leaning into it, sighing now, happy, and Noctis's hand fumbles until it finds Prompto's and winds their fingers together.

It feels wonderful. Fantastic. He wants to go to the roof and scream, “Prompto kissed me back!” to the world, but that would mean he'd have to move, and he doesn't want to do that.

They break apart, fingers still tangled together. Noctis's face is bright red, and Prompto's is just as bad, his freckles standing out even more against the vibrant blush. It's cute. Noctis has to look away.

“Uh, so,” he says, winces at the way his voice cracks. “It's late. You wanna finish the water and go back to sleep?”

“Y-yeah,” Prompto squeaks back, taking a swig after he does, but he doesn't let go of Noctis's hand. They wiggle back under the covers, neither of them looking at each other.

“Do you wanna leave the light on?”

“...If it won't bother you.”

“We'll leave it on.”

Prompto's asleep not long after, but somehow, Noctis can't find sleep for himself. His lips are still tingling, and he can't help but smile up at the ceiling and replay the kiss in his mind, over and over.

* * *

 

Ignis's first order of business after he wakes and goes through his morning routine is calling the school and announcing that both Noctis Lucis Caelum and Prompto Argentum will be out for the day.

“I've heard,” the secretary says, sounding nervous, “of the... situation, with Prompto.”

“I'd imagine you have,” Ignis replies dryly.

“We're very sorry for what happened. I'm sure the school will be reviewing their bullying policies and-”

“Yes, that all sounds wonderful,” Ignis cuts her off, and he knows it's a bit rude, but he just doesn't have the time. “I'll be by later to collect any assignments for the both of them. Thank you.”

Once he hangs up, he dials the numbers he realizes they should have from the beginning: Prompto's parents. He'd snagged them from Prompto's cellphone before he left Noctis's apartment the night before.

For both numbers he's sent to voicemail. It's a little after noon in Accordo, but if his parents are very busy, it makes sense that they wouldn't interrupt their work for an unknown number. He leaves them near identical messages, explaining that he's Prince Noctis's advisor, and he has some urgent news regarding their son.

It's only half an hour before he gets a call back, from Mrs. Argentum. Her voice sounds anxious when he answers.

“Hello?”

“Yes, is this Mr. Scientia?”

“It is. And I assume you are Mrs. Argentum?”

“Yes. You said you wanted to speak with me about Prompto? He hasn't done something to bother the prince, has he?”

“No, nothing like that. You're aware your son and Prince Noctis are very close friends?”

“I... know he's mentioned hanging out with the prince at school...”

“Yes, and after. Prompto has become something of a fixture around Noct- the prince's apartment.”

“I'm sorry for the trouble.”

“It's no trouble at all. As I mentioned, they're very good friends, and he is more than welcome.” There's a pause, while Ignis gathers himself. “I'm calling you to inform you that... on Friday afternoon, some boys from Prompto's school taped his hands and mouth together and locked him in a gym locker, most likely as some kind of dangerous prank. It took us some time, but on Sunday morning we were able to find him.”

There is silence from the woman for a moment, followed by a soft, “Oh, Astrals. Where is he now?”

“He is currently resting at the prince's apartment.” She makes a noise that sounds like a protest, so he quickly adds, “It's no problem, I assure you. Prince Noctis was very concerned for him, and is more than happy to take care of him while he recovers. We've also arranged for the Citadel's doctor to come take a look at him; it appears he has injured his wrist, though we're not yet sure how badly.”

When she says nothing in response for several seconds, he prompts her with, “I know it's a lot to take in, Mrs. Argentum, but-”

“No, I just...” She takes a deep breath, then says, “Thank you, for finding him. And thank Prince Noctis too, for his generosity. My husband and I are both very grateful.”

“As I've said, it's absolutely no trouble. We're only glad we found him before the situation became dire.”

“How is he?” she asks, tone worried. Ignis is glad she sounds concerned, for Prompto's sake.

“He's shaken up, obviously, but he seemed calm when I left the apartment last night. He was dehydrated and malnourished, but we've been working on that. After I left, Gladiolus Amicitia, the prince's Shield, stayed behind to watch over them, and he hasn't informed me of any issues.”

“And... the boys who did this to him? What about them?”

“The police have been notified of the situation and are conducting their investigation as we speak. I'm sure we will know in the coming days if they intend to press criminal charges, and of course we'd be willing to help you with any civil charges Prompto might wish to bring.”

“I... thank you. That's very kind of you.”

“As I've said, Prompto is a dear friend of Prince Noctis's, and a good friend to myself and Gladiolus. We're more than happy to help him, however he needs.”

“Yes. He's lucky he's found such good friends.”

_We're just as lucky_ , Ignis thinks. _Noct smiles so much more when Prompto is around..._

What he says is, “If you have any further questions, I'm more than happy to answer them, but if not, I really must be going.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you for calling.”

“It's no trouble. Feel free to call me back at this number if you need anything else.”

“Alright. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

That accomplished, Ignis heads for the school.

* * *

 

Four boys stand outside the high school, watching as a police officer mills around outside the gym. There's crime scene tape around the door, blocking students off from entering; an email had gone out the night before, informing them that due to an incident, the gym would be closed until further notice.

“You don't think he died in there, do you?” asks one of the boys, hunched and chewing his lip. He pointedly avoids the gaze of the officer, hoping she won't look this way.

“Don't be an idiot. There's no way he died.”

“He hasn't made it to school yet,” notes another, glancing over his shoulder. It's minutes to the bell for their first class.

“He's running late. So what?” snaps the biggest one. “Or maybe he's staying home to be a big crybaby about it. But he's fine.”

A moment of silence passes as they watch the activity around the gym, scant as it is. The detective working the case is inside.

“...Are we going to jail?” one of them squeaks finally, the one who had wondered if Prompto is dead, and the biggest one turns on him.

“No one is going to jail.”

“But if he's alive, he's going to tell-”

“Tell them what, that we locked him in a locker for a few hours? That's not worth anyone's time.”

“What if he was in there longer than a few hours?”

“There's no way. Don't be an idiot.”

“We're all going to jail,” mutters the third boy, and he and his near twin look at each other with hopeless expressions.

“No one is going to jail,” chastises the last of them, quiet until now, but he's thinking of the pictures he took with his own hands, incriminating evidence that is most likely with the police now.

The biggest one looks back towards the officer, then turns back to them. “Even if he says it was us, we say we don't know anything about it, okay? We were messing around with him in the gym, sure, but we didn't do any of that other stuff. My dad has good lawyers. If they can't prove we put him in there, it's his word against ours.”

“If they find out we're lying, it'll just be worse-”

“Then they don't find out we're lying.” The biggest one glares at the other three. “Any of you squeals, and I'll make _sure_ it's the last thing you ever do. Got it?”

The two near identical boys gulp and nod. The fourth boy just sighs and says, “Yeah, yeah.”

The bell rings, and the four of them head back inside for class, and try to pretend like nothing happened.

* * *

“Noct. Hey. Wake up.”

“Mmm... five more minutes.”

“Dude, we're gonna be late for school. Already _are_ late for school.”

Noctis opens his eyes, squinting in the morning light. It's all natural, so Prompto or Gladio must have turned the ceiling light off at some point.

“You're kidding, right? School, _today_?”

“Yeah. It's Monday.” A pause, and a weird look crosses Prompto's face. “It _is_ Monday, right?”

“Yeah. But seriously.” Noctis rolls over, pressing his face into the pillow. “Specs already called us out for the day, okay? After this weekend you need a day off.” He cracks one eye open, looking at the out-of-focus image of his best friend. “Unless you _want_ to go to school?”

Prompto purses his lips, but then he shakes his head. “Not even a little.”

“Then chill out. We'll take it easy here today. Besides.” He yawns. “The doctor's comin' to look at your wrist, remember?”

“Oh yeah.” Prompto looks down at the wrist in question. It's less swollen today, but it's still sore, and he can't move it like he can the other.

Distantly, he thinks he's glad that it's the wrist that _doesn't_ have his barcode on it.

“Alright. But I'm gonna go get breakfast.” Prompto stands up, stretching as he does. The sweatshirt he's wearing slips up as he does so, revealing the skin on his back, and Noctis can't help but peek at it. “You want anything?”

“To go back to sleep,” he says, and Prompto laughs.

“I'll get some for you, too.”

His legs are still sore, the way they used to feel when he first started running, but at least they can hold his weight. Prompto leaves Noctis and walks himself into the living room. Gladio's on the couch, already awake, drinking coffee and lazily watching some morning news show at low volume. “Fall Breakfast Favorites!” the chyron tells him they're discussing.

“Morning,” he greets, and is pleased when his voice isn't so rough anymore. Gladio looks over at him, grinning.

“Hey. Walking by yourself now, huh?” His voice is lightly teasing, though not mean.

“Yeah. If Noctis is going to sleep all day I gotta do it myself.”

Gladio laughs, looking back at the TV. Prompto shuffles into the kitchen, pulling out the breakfast food Ignis has magnanimously stored in the fridge. There's eggs already scrambled, some sausage and bacon, fresh fruit...

He reheats it on the stove, asking Gladio if he wants some too. “I can help,” Gladio offers, but he turns it down. They've already done more than enough to help him, and he's not so helpless that he can't reheat some breakfast.

When it's done, he drops Gladio's plate off before making his way with two more balanced on his arm to Noctis's room, a cup of apple juice and a cup of orange juice clutched in his fingers. It's precarious, especially with his legs starting to shake from the effort, but he somehow manages to make it without incident. Noctis is awake now, and he sits up on the bed to take the extra plate and apple juice from Prompto.

“You didn't _really_ have to get me some too,” he chides, and Prompto shrugs.

“Figured you weren't going to get yourself up and get any, so there you go.”

“Thanks.” He shoves a piece of bacon in his mouth, watching as Prompto lowers himself onto the mattress, settling his own plate on his knees. “Did you make it okay?”

“Yeah. But I'm tired now.” He sighs, leaning his head back, and takes a forlorn bite of sausage. “This sucks. It's like when I started jogging all over again.”

“You got through it then, you'll get through it now,” Noctis reassures him. “And you got me to help you this time.” Could have had him last time, Noctis thinks, but neither of them had been socially equipped to handle the situation. At least they got over it by high school.

“Y-yeah.” Prompto looks back down at his plate, shoving eggs around with his fork for a moment, before suddenly he blurts, “Um, actually... don't laugh, but I had a weird dream about... you, last night?”

“About me?”

“Yeah, uh.” The tips of Prompto's ears go pink. It's adorable. “I... kinda dreamed that you... kissed me?”

Noctis chokes on a bite of egg. “That-” He coughs, feeling his own face heat up. He swallows hard. “That wasn't a dream.”

Prompto stares at him. His face slowly darkens with a blush.

“Oh.” He looks back at his eggs. He's pushing them around faster now. “I thought it felt awfully real, but like, I thought, there's no way, right?” He gives a little nervous laugh. “I mean, _you_ , kissing _me_ , when you could get anyone else, and there's no way the worst weekend of my life ends with- mmph!”

He's abruptly cut off by Noctis pulling his face up and kissing him again, harder than before. He slowly closes his eyes, feeling the roughness of Noctis's lips, warm against his.

Noctis pulls back after a moment, eyes searching his face. “Unless you... don't want me to kiss you anymore?” he says slowly, sounding sheepish now. Prompto shakes his head.

“No, I mean, yes.” He shakes his head again, to try and get ahold of himself. “I mean, the kissing is... it's great, yeah, we can do that again, if you want.”

Noctis's lips curl up in a smile, and then he kisses Prompto again, even harder this time. He licks Prompto's lips, and Prompto makes a needy noise as he opens them and lets Noctis's tongue slide inside. It feels a little weird, but not in a bad way; he enjoys the heat of Noctis's breath and tongue, the feeling of being connected to him like this.

Noctis moves like he's going to straddle Prompto's lap, and sends his plate tumbling onto the bed. He pulls away with an annoyed, “ _Shit_ ,” and Prompto can't help but burst out laughing.

“Maybe we should try this again after we eat?” he suggests, still laughing as he watches Noctis try and get his food back onto the plate, scrubbing ineffectually at the stain on his sheets with a napkin. “Less hazardous.”

“Careful, I'm going to think you don't appreciate my smooth moves,” Noctis huffs, though he's still sporting just a hint of a grin.

“Oh yeah, you're just the king of smooth. The only thing that would've made it better is if you'd spilled your breakfast _on_ me.”

“Dang. Missed my chance.” He snaps his fingers. Prompto laughs, takes another bite of bacon.

“Guess it just means I have something to look forward to next time,” he says, and feels his heart flutter at the way Noctis's face lights up when he says, _next time_.

* * *

 

The secretary gets to her feet immediately when Ignis walks into the high school's office, moving her hands like she isn't sure what to do with herself. “Mr. Scientia,” she says, breathless. “Can I get you anything? Some coffee, or...”

“No thank you. I won't be long.” He looks around, eyes zeroing in on the door marked, “Principal's Office.” “Are they in there?” he nods to indicate the door.

“Yes. They're waiting for you.”

He thanks her and enters the room, where the school's principal and the detective working the case are both standing, looking at a computer monitor. When he enters the room, the principal holds out a hand to him.

“Ignis Scientia?” he asks, and Ignis nods. “I'm Corvin Aurelius, principal here, and this is Detective Horacio.”

“A pleasure to meet you both,” he says politely, taking each man's hand in turn.

“I trust Prince Noctis is well?” asks Principal Aurelius, and Ignis nods.

“Yes. He's taken the day off to tend to Prompto while he's recovering.” He looks between them. “Prompto's case is why I'm here; I'd rather thought we could focus on that.”

“Yes, of course,” the principal says quickly, looking a bit nervous. “I assure you, in all my years in education I've never heard of something like this; our school is normally quite safe.”

“And yet, here we are,” says Ignis, smothering any note of impatience as much as possible. He looks to the detective. “You said you had a development?”

“Yes.” He nods at the monitor. “We found the security camera footage from the gym on the night of the incident, and we believe we've been able to identify the students responsible.” A pause, and he adds, a bit annoyed, “Though it would have been much _easier_ if we'd been able to interview the Argentum boy and ask him who did this.”

“Prompto will speak to the police when he is ready, and not a moment before,” says Ignis firmly, eyes narrowing. The detective is old enough to be his father, and he has a stern look on his face, but Ignis doesn't let himself be intimidated.

Finally, Detective Horacio backs down. “Yes, well. Here's the footage.”

He presses play on the computer screen, and the camera footage starts playing. Ignis watches as the silent image of Prompto rushes into the gym, alone, intent on finding his camera. He enters the locker room. Not long after, four boys enter the gym; one stays outside, going to grab a dodgeball off a rack on the wall, while the other three walk into the locker room.

After a minute or two, Prompto runs back out, trying to escape. The one who hung back throws the dodgeball at his head, knocking him down; he lands hard on his wrist. _Must be how he hurt it._ His bag goes flying, books and papers scattering around him.

Two of the bullies catch up to him, haul him to his feet, then drag him back into the locker room. The detective leans in and hits fast forward. Several minutes later, the bullies reemerge, laughing. One of them is holding Prompto's camera. They leave the gym. Prompto does not.

“So what you say,” says the detective, “is that they taped the Argentum kid up, threw him in a locker, and locked him up in there?”

“Yes. I believe there is adequate evidence to prove this.” Ignis reaches into a folder he has with him, pulls out a photo packet and hands them to Detective Horacio. He opens it up and pulls out the four photos contained within: printouts of the ones on Prompto's camera, developed by Gladio while the camera was being repaired at Ignis's request.

“We found the camera laying outside, on the sidewalk. These were on the memory card.”

The principal sucks in a breath, but the detective is quiet. He looks them over critically, clearly looking for any signs that they've been forged or tampered with. After a moment, he nods, tucking them into a pocket of his coat.

“We found blood and other bodily fluids on the inside of the locker, too. We should be able to match it to Argentum's. And of course, we'll need his statement.”

“You'll get it, soon,” Ignis promises. “I'll bring him to the station myself.”

“Alright.” The detective nods, then looks at the principal. “Were you able to identify these boys?”

“Yes.” He hands out a list of names, which the detective takes. “We'll have them called to the office immediately.”

The detective nods, then looks at Ignis. “We can take it from here.” He holds out a card. “Here. Call anytime.”

Ignis nods back, taking the card and slipping it into his wallet. “Then I will be contacting you shortly to see how it's going.” He looks between them again, says curtly, “Gentlemen,” and then leaves.

He has lunch to make.

* * *

 

They've moved to the couch with Gladio while Noctis's sheets are in the wash, an old comedy movie playing on the TV. Prompto is only half paying attention, dozing where he's leaned against Noctis's side. Occasionally Noctis will laugh or comment, and his voice is warm and soothing.

He's snapped awake by his phone suddenly ringing, and he grabs it off the coffee table, blinking blearily at the name on the screen. And then he's alert, jamming the answer button.

“It's my mom,” he says to Noctis, before putting the phone to his ear. “Mom?” He's aware of Noctis and Gladio's eyes on him as he tries to make out his mother's voice on the other end of the line. “Mom, why are you crying?” he asks, getting up and walking away from the couch, seeking some privacy in the hallway.

“Prompto... we heard what happened, are you okay?” she asks, her voice thick with tears. Prompto hasn't heard his mom cry in a long time; it's weird.

“Y-yeah, I'm... doing better.” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Noct's been making sure I eat and drink a lot, and the doctor is coming soon to look at my wrist, so...”

“Okay,” she says softly, voice still wavering. “I'm glad. You just do whatever the doctor tells you to do, okay? And drink as much as you can.”

“Sure thing, Mom.”

“Here, your dad wants to talk to you.”

There's fumbling, and then Prompto's father is saying, “Hey kiddo, you there?” It's weird, too. Prompto's dad almost never calls him.

“Yeah, Dad. I'm here.”

“How're you feeling?”

“I'm alright,” he answers, because it's the best he can give them.

“Alright. Good,” his father echoes, sounding relieved. “I'm glad they got you out of there.”

“Yeah,” says Prompto, his voice thick. “I am too.”

“Listen, your mom and I are at the docks right now, okay? We'll be home in a few days.”

“Wha-” Prompto stands up straighter, not sure he's heard right. “Dad, you don't have to-”

“No, listen. We do have to.” His dad's voice is heavy with something, something almost like regret. “If we'd been there, we could have reported you missing, but instead...”

“I-it's okay, Dad,” he says, feeling his eyes start to brim with tears. “They... the guys found me, okay, I'm fine, really.”

There's fumbling again, and then his mom's voice is on the line, saying, “Sweetie, we should have been there. When we adopted you, we promised...” There's a pause while she takes a deep breath, and he has to scrub at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I know we don't do the best job of being there for you, but we're going to be there for you through this. Okay?”

“Yeah.” He swallows, hoping she can't tell he's crying. “Thanks, Mom.”

“We love you,” she says softly. “Will you stay at the prince's apartment until we get there?”

“Yeah. Noct insisted.”

“Okay.” She sighs, says, “We love you,” again.

They hang up. Prompto ambles into the bathroom, wipes his nose and tries to look more put together before he goes back into the living room.

He's pretty sure he doesn't succeed, but Noctis and Gladio don't say anything.

* * *

 

It's not long after that that the doctor arrives. Her visit doesn't take long; she checks Prompto's vitals, looks in his eyes and tests his reflexes, then examines his wrist. It's a mild sprain, she says, though it's been aggravated by being taped up and not properly tended to. She gives him a splint and orders to ice it regularly, and says she'll come back to check on him in a few days.

“Normal pain meds as needed,” she says on her way out. “And just let it rest. Only use that hand if you really need to.” She looks from him to Noctis, holding the door. “Oh, and Prince Noctis, please remember you need to schedule your yearly physical soon.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I mean it, Your Highness,” she says more forcefully, looking at him down her nose. “Don't make me tell your father.”

“Yeah, okay, I got it. Goodbye.”

He swings the door shut before she can say anything else. Gladio snorts. “I see your etiquette lessons are sticking.”

“I hate physicals with her,” Noctis whines, walking back to the couch. “She always tells me to eat more vegetables.”

“You could stand to eat a few more,” says Prompto, looking up from his splint. Noctis groans, leaning his head back.

“Not you _too_.” He runs a hand down his face, then peeks at Prompto's wrist. “You okay? Need anything?”

“Uh...” He grimaces. “No... well, some aspirin might be nice.”

“Aspirin, coming right up.”

He gets up to go get some. While he's fumbling around in his medicine cabinet, Prompto asks, “Can't you just use some cool healing magic or something?”

Noctis winces. “I'm... not so good at the spell yet. If you'd _just_ sprained your wrist, like, an hour ago, maybe...”

“Nah, it's fine.” Prompto waves it off. “No big, man.”

Noctis comes back with the medicine, looking away. “Sorry. Guess I'm not that much help to you, huh?”

“You're kidding, right?” Prompto is actually looking at him incredulously. “You've been great. Couldn't have made it without you, buddy.”

Noctis shakes his head, but smiles, sitting down next to Prompto on the couch once again. “I do what I can,” he says nonchalantly, before nudging Prompto's shoulder with his own. “But you know... I was pretty lost without you, too.”

“Oh, you missed my devilish good looks and biting wit?” Prompto grins, and Noctis laughs.

“Yeah, and I was definitely missing your corniness, too.” He nudges Prompto again. “But, seriously... you know, I actually thought for a second that maybe you just didn't want to be friends anymore.”

“Whaaaat!?” Prompto looks scandalized. “Okay, that would never, ever, ever in a million years happen.” He leans forward to look directly in Noctis's eyes. “You know that, right?”

“...Yeah, I know.” And he does, knows deep in his heart that Prompto is one of the most caring and loyal people he's ever met, easily on par with Ignis and Gladio. That there are no other people he would rather want by his side in life than Prompto.

“Sheesh, you guys, get a room,” says Gladio suddenly, and both of them jerk back, realizing how close they were getting to each other. Noctis stammers an embarrassed, “Shut up, Gladio,” at the same time Prompto squeaks, “Geez, big guy, you scared the crap out of me.”

Still, when Noctis reaches over to take Prompto's uninjured hand, he doesn't pull away.

* * *

 

Ignis returns just before noon, announcing without much preamble, “The boys who attacked Prompto are now in police custody.”

Prompto sits up on the couch, eyes wide. “Wait, like... they're in _jail_?”

“All of them are from well-off families, so I wouldn't be surprised if they're all out on bail by tomorrow.” Ignis sounds as though he's discussing the weather, coming to stand in front of the three of them. “But yes, for the moment, they are in juvenile detention.”

Prompto stares at him for a moment longer, then sinks back, running a hand over his face. “Seriously. Holy shit.”

“They deserve it after what they did to you,” says Noctis darkly, and Gladio grunts his approval.

Ignis nods in agreement, adding, “I don't know yet what charges were pressed, but I'd assume assault, and most likely false imprisonment. The former will be a misdemeanor, but the latter is a felony.”

“A felony,” Prompto repeats, voice sounding far away. “Holy shit.”

“What's wrong, Prom?” asks Noctis, sounding worried. He would have thought Prompto would be happy with this news, but instead he looks like he might faint.

“It's just... they're going to have felonies on their record, because of me.”

“No,” says Noctis firmly, putting a hand on Prompto's shoulder. “They're going to have felonies on their record because they're stupid assholes. They did this to themselves.”

“They're still minors, so they likely won't be sentenced as harshly as if they were adults, especially as you survived and are relatively healthy,” Ignis says, tone measured. “They aren't going to prison forever.”

“Yeah, but... it's a lot to take in, I guess.” He looks at his hands. “Am I gonna have to... go to court, and that kind of stuff?”

“Quite possibly.”

He doesn't say anything to that, and Noctis rubs a hand over his shoulders. “Hey, we'll be with you. Don't worry about it, okay?”

“Yeah, I know.” He looks up at Noctis and gives him a small upturn of his lips. “I just... don't want anyone's lives to be ruined over this, you know?”

“Well, we can certainly appeal to the judge for a lighter sentence, assuming they're convicted,” says Ignis, eyes on Prompto.

“You're kidding,” says Noctis, at the same time Gladio snaps, “Seriously!?” but Ignis holds up a hand.

“If that is Prompto's wish, we should abide by it. Though ultimately it's out of our hands, the victim is generally allowed to give their opinion on this in court, if they want.”

“O-okay.” Prompto looks up. “Thanks, Iggy.”

“It's no trouble.”

“I don't get it,” huffs Noctis. “Just let them rot in jail, man.”

“I know it sounds weird.” Prompto shrugs. “But I... I really just want to move on, you know? Put this behind all of us.”

Noctis looks at him quietly for a moment, appraising him. “...Okay,” he says finally with a sigh. “I get it. We'll do this your way, Prompto.”

Tension seeps out of Prompto's shoulders, and he smiles more openly now. “Thanks.” A pause, while he thinks, and then he adds, “I wouldn't mind them being _scared_ , though. So, you know, they won't try this on anyone else.”

“Scary, I can do,” says Gladio. “I'll come with you to the courthouse. They won't want to bother anyone _ever_ again.”

“Aww, thanks, big guy. You always know just what to say.”

“I suggest you go down to the police station and make your statement tomorrow,” says Ignis. “But we can put all that aside for now.”

He turns, walks off toward the kitchen, before adding, “Since I never got an answer: what would you like on your pizza, Prompto?”

“Pizza?”

“What we were supposed to eat on Saturday,” supplies Noctis. “Better late than never, right?”

“Ohhh man...” Prompto swivels on the couch to look back at Ignis. “Is “everything” an option?”

Ignis smiles. “One supreme, coming right up.”

“Pepperoni only on mine, Specs,” says Noctis, ignoring whatever Gladio mutters about picky eaters.

The sounds and smells of Ignis's cooking fill the apartment. Gladio goes to join him in the kitchen, leaving Noctis and Prompto together on the couch.

“I glad that we're finally getting to hang out after all.”

Prompto leans on his shoulder, letting his head drift down to rest. “Even if I'm being pretty boring today?”

“You're never boring.”

“I'll remind you of that, next time you tell me to stop talking about camera filters.”

Noctis laughs, pulling him closer. “Okay, you're _usually_ not boring.”

He finds Prompto's uninjured hand, lacing their fingers together once again, and Prompto sinks further down against the solid, warm weight of Noctis's chest and thinks that it's all going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me at the beginning: I'm not going to have any kisses in this fic, I'll leave the relationship vague.  
> Me at the end: WHOOPS
> 
> Anyway, thanks everyone who stuck with this to the end! I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for all the lovely comments and kudos!


End file.
